


In Your Wickedness (Or: Fear and Malice in Gotham)

by Katarsis



Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Bondage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gunplay, Humiliation, Knife Play, Masturbation, Medical Device, Playing Doctor, Post-Batman: Arkham Knight, Power Play, Psychological Trauma, Psychotropic Drugs, Sex Toys, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarsis/pseuds/Katarsis
Summary: “Please, Ms. Geier. It’s all part of the experiment. Think of it as a scientific contribution.”“What if I refuse?”The Scarecrow relayed a look of severity. “Better question: are you prepared to face horrors beyond imagination? Do you think you are able to overcome the greatest fears known to mankind? Look around.” He gestured behind him, alluding the numerous canisters splayed about the facilities. He detected trepidation veil Ada’s grey eyes. “These supplies are enough to bring a hundred Banes into brink of insanity. Are you willing to take that chance?” He lifted his right hand to show her the device strapped to his knuckles, reminding her that the nightmares were conveniently within reach. “Do realize that we can do this the easy way or thehorribleway.”Ada Geier is a psychopharmacist and a small-time crook. She is not a long time citizen of Gotham and not quite familiar with the Rogues' Gallery. When she is employed as a temporary aid in Arkham Asylum she soon finds out that one particular sack-faced resident is more than she could handle. Never did Ada imagine that she'd turn into a patient of the Scarecrow.





	1. The Infirmary

**Author's Note:**

> There are a couple of things you should know before reading.
> 
>  **About posting this fanfic** : This is the first time I have posted any of my fanfics online. Ever. I’ve always kept my fics to myself and written them solely for my own amusement. The reason why I’m posting now is because Scarecrow, most especially the _Arkham Knight_ version needs more action (I mean, seriously, back in 2015, when I saw the trailer for the first time I literally screamed ”That’s sex. That’s just pure sex!”). Also, I figured there just might be others, who are just as into the Arkham Scarecrow as I am.
> 
>  **My writing** : English is not my first language. If you spot grammatical errors or sentences that just don’t make sense, please let me know so I can correct my mistakes. Also, I will learn to be better! Even when I write in my native tongue, my biggest flaw is writing mile long sentences,
> 
>  **About this particular fanfic** : It all started around 2011. I was writing a fanfic pairing an OC and the Riddler from the animated series _The Batman_ (2004). When I came across the Arkham video game series about a year later I really got into Scarecrow’s portrayal in the said series. I didn’t want to ditch my OC, so I started writing a sequel to the original, pairing her with Scarecrow. This is the said sequel and it takes place a couple of years after the events of Arkham Knight. I am not quite certain what I think of the _Knightfall_ ending, so I’ve left it kind of ambiguous on purpose.
> 
>  **And last, but not least** : I write porn (with plot) exclusively. No romance. Just unbridled, vivacious sex.
> 
> With that said, enjoy!

In civil, Vitriol had been an pharmacist. She knew a generous amount about medicine, atropines and supplements. She had a degree in biochemistry and she knew what substances and their combinations could do in a human body. She was also a learned psychopharmacist. She knew the basic tracks of human mind, though she was not a full-fledged psychiatrist.

She knew people at Arkham Asylum. Not inmates but workers. Since Dr. Eric Braxton, the leading psychiatrist who recently went mad (a worryingly common fate here, she had heard), Arkham was looking for new employees to treat the patients. Vitriol was hired as a temporary “psychiatric aide”, until a new doctor would be found to replace Dr. Braxton. Help was needed, because the Asylum didn’t have many nurses, neither orderlies. The psychiatrists already working at Arkham had their hands full with the criminally insane.

It was Vitriol’s first day at work. It was weird to wear a white coat and a nametag for a long time. Walking the isles of cells, she felt naked without her mask, but she had to endure it. Because of the Riddler, she had lost her job at the pharmacy and now this was the only source of income in addition to thieving. Sure she had earned quite a sum by stealing certain chemical components for mobsters, but they were only singular gigs.

“Thanks for getting me this job, Jimmy.” Vitriol whispered to the big guard, who guided her through the halls. She had run into him by accident only a couple of weeks ago. He used to be a classmate and a good friend of hers during junior high. That was back when they both lived in Seattle. After graduation, Jimmy Blake moved to Gotham and became a security guard. Funny how, out of all places, he became a high level security guard in Arkham Asylum.

“Don’t mention it, Ada. We need someone to talk to these creeps.”

“I’ll do everything I can to get to the bottom of them.” Ada, also known as Vitriol by night, was not a long time citizen of Gotham City. Vitriol was still quite a new identity among villains, and she was not too familiar with all of the Arkham inmates. She had browsed the patient files earlier, many of the names not ringing any bells to her, save for Joker the “Clown Prince of Crime”, Poison Ivy the “Plant Lady” and Two-Face the “Duality Obsessed DID”.

“Now, here we are. This ward is for the really mental ones – Black Mask, Firefly, Victor Zsasz and so on. They need your help more than anyone in Arkham. So yea, I’ll go get some coffee, but I’ll be back.”

“Sure, thanks!”

“Remember, if they even look like they’re going to jump you, use the taser and press your ID badge on the touchpad to call for help!”

“I’ll be fine!” Vitriol waved Jimmy off and turned to look at the first door. She bleeped the lock open with her security card she was given and thumbed through the papers for the right patient history. “Good afternoon. My name is Dr. Geier. You must be Edward Nygma.”

When she looked up from the papers, her heart started to race. Although the man sat on his bed, back towards her, there was something about that brown hair and lanky frame.

“Well, well. You’re the new shrink the walls have been whispering about, eh? Ada Geier, was it? I must warn you, you’d have to be at least half as mad as Dr. Strange to survive in Arkham.”

Ada swallowed, but kept her calm, memories forcing their heads above the surface. “I think I’ll manage.”

Edward shifted, looking past his shoulder. Vitriol was starting to wonder when he’d recognize her. A part of her was afraid, but the other was collected – professional. Fortunately this loony was wearing a straight-jacket. “Well, Dr. Geier, did you bring ink-blot cards or some other frivolous psychological games with you?” Edward asked with a chuckle as he fully turned to Vitriol.

She patiently watched how Edward’s jeering smile quickly slumped, when he finally had a look at her face. His eyes were baggy and weary, lips pale. He seemed tired beneath the undisputed surprise. “ _You!_ ”

Vitriol cleared her throat and erected her mental barrier. “Hello, Mr. Nygma. Or should I call you _Riddler_?” Memories from a couple of months ago flashed into her mind and her stomach churned. She cursed at her ill fate for meeting Edward Nygma, the Riddler, once again. Yet, she was also delighted to see him imprisoned. The straightjacket indicated a recent outburst. There was also a small cut on his colorless lips and a bruise on his left cheekbone. The very sight of him, stripped from his green attire and dressed in light gray (probably once white) restraining garments made Ada smile a little.

The look on Edward’s face was dark and his teeth clenched. It seemed like he was having a hard time keeping in his anger towards her. He did not move an inch anymore.

“I didn’t bring any _toys_ with me, I just want to talk during our first session.” She was mocking him. It was unprofessional, but well-deserved.

“You want to talk? Fine, let’s!”

Ada, serene, took a seat on the chair in the middle of the room, at a small table. “How have you been?”

Edward snorted, fractiously. “Let’s see.. You exploited me in the most humiliating way and left me in an utterly undignified position, completely stripped, smeared and bound in my own hideout. To top it off, of all people, it was _Batman_ who found me and brought me here.”

It was nigh impossible for Ada to prevent herself from laughing at the mere thought.

“So how have _I_ been doing? Just absolutely dandy!”

“That’s nice to hear.” Ada chuckled, daunting.

“You will rue the things you did to me. I swear I will have my revenge!”

“Oh, you can’t possibly claim you didn’t like it!” Ada squinted her eyes in a smug smile and whispered: “I know your cock did.”

Ada was right. Physically, it might have been very pleasurable, but Edward couldn’t forget the feeling of utter shame of a rubber dick invading him. It was unforgiveable! “Perhaps, but no one plays tricks on me and gets away with it.” Edward spoke, shivering at the memory of his creation of a sex machine turned against him. He had made it purely for Vitriol’s humiliation, not for himself. “You may start watching over your shoulder when I get out of here.”

“But in order to leave Arkham, dear Mr. Nygma, you will need my verdict. Remember that. I suggest it would be in your best interest to behave, starting now.”

The Riddler gritted his teeth in frustration. Never had he wanted revenge so badly. It was true that he needed Dr. Geier’s medical opinion to be set free, but why of all people it had to be her?

“So tell me, Mr. Nygma, why have you been restrained? It stands in my files you had a violent outburst. Please, tell me what happened.”

Edward’s head was seething and the taste of bile filled his mouth at the feigned relevance. “Well, Dr. Geier.” Edward began, bitterly, as he leaned his back against the wall. “I was playing _Reversi_ with Jerry Randalf. He said he was _soo_ good at it! I proved him wrong and won the game, after which he grew mad about something I said and assailed me. All I did was in self-defense and still the orderlies restrained me.”

Ada was browsing through his files. “Hmm, what I see here you haven’t been the violent type in Arkham before. Can you tell me why now?”

The Riddler smirked. “Considering the fact why and how I was brought here in the first place, I think you know the answer.”

Ada did. “And I would highly appreciate you keep your information about me to yourself. For your own sake.” she said coldly and, just in case, she prescribed the Riddler with a small, daily dose of sedatives and mood stabilizers.

The Riddler was silent for a moment, until he suddenly stated: “You’ve changed your hair.”

Ada flipped the locks of hair off her shoulder as she lifted her gaze from her papers. Her hair was longer than before, straight and in the shade of poisonous green. “Yes, I have.”

Edward Nygma uncomfortably shifted a little. “It looks..” He pursed his lips and looked away. “..very nice.” he managed to finish his sentence.

Vitriol laughed inside. Oh, how she loved to see the master of riddles at her mercy.

 

 

The moment she stepped in the next room and closed the door behind her, she met a slender man, who turned to her, already seated at the table. Vitriol slightly jumped at the sight of him, then felt offputtingly weak from shoulders down. It was not the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen, but the sheer.. disfigurement – the unbridled maltreatment of the man’s whole gestalt. She had read from the files that this patient had some special circumstances and was permitted to have his “mask”. The quotation marks were actually printed on the papers and now she knew why.

His face was hooded and shrouded in what seemed to be torn burlap with respirators attached to each side of the jaw. The skin behind the mask seemed dry and stretched, even a part of his nose was missing. Crooked teeth shone through the stitching at his mouth. Other than the mask and hood, he had a complex leg brace adorning his left leg over the shabby, orange Arkham inmate attire. He seemed withered and crippled, even though that might not be the full reality. Despite his appearances, the man actually seemed quite energetic. He had been scribbling on the papers set before him and he was now looking at her, expecting.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane, I presume?” Ada finally managed to speak, fastening her thoughts, as she was well aware this man observed her every move, every motion. She couldn’t help wondering how and what had caused all this mutilation. The reports only mentioned of a _Killer Croc_ , nothing more. Judging by the sharp, well-proportioned bone structure, this man may have been quite handsome once.

“Yes.” he spoke in a soothing voice that sent a shiver down Ada’s spine. She didn’t like it. “Please, have a seat, Miss..?” Dr. Crane gestured the other chair at the other side of the table.

“Actually, it’s Doctor. Doctor Ada Geier.” Vitriol sat on the chair. She had read about him before. Dr. Crane used to be a professor of psychology in Gotham University, but was fired due to unethical experiments on his students. Adopted the identity of “Scarecrow”, accomplished psychiatrist specializing (and obsessed by) fear. The creator of fear-inducing toxin. Also former Arkham employee.

He seemed quite sedate and not very interested in making any trouble, but Vitriol needed to be careful even if Dr. Crane didn’t have any of his fear gas on him – she had heard he was adept at getting to people.

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Geier, and how are you tonight?”

“That’s my line. I’m conducting this session.” She kept her tone impassive.

Dr. Crane smiled, almost sardonically, the stitching over his mouth stretching. The sight made Ada’s own lips tingle uncomfortably. “Of course, if you say so.” He crossed his thin legs and placed his hands atop each other on his lap.

“So, how are you, Dr. Crane?”

“Quite well, thank you. Apart from the fact that it’s difficult to continue my research under these conditions, I am well.”

“Yes, I’ve read your file. It’s interesting how such a brilliant mind can turn out either helping or devastating people.”

“But I _am_ helping people. Facing one’s fears is a challenge in life everyone will be up against. Fear is what drives everything, Dr. Geier.”

She decided to indulge him. “And how is that?” For an odd reason, she had a feeling that Crane was leading this conversation.

“Think about it. You get educated out of fear of never succeeding in life, you get a job in fear of ending up on streets.. One gets married because they are afraid of dying alone, they have children out of fear of leaving nothing behind.. It is fear of not being able to pay your bills why you are here right now.” This speech sounded almost rehearsed.

Ada slightly shifted in her seat and unconsciously nibbled at the corner of her clipboard. She knew it was a mistake the very second a glimpse of realization, of interest, flashed in the Doctor’s eyes. He was reading her. Of course, with his high merits, he must have had her figured out the minute she stepped in. On the other hand, working at Arkham paid generously – it didn’t take a genius to figure out that most of the workers were in for the money. Still, Ada needed be careful.

“What is it that you fear, Dr. Geier?” Dr. Crane crooned.

Vitriol swallowed and braced herself. “We’re not talking about me here. This session is all about you.”

“Ah, that is what you think! But as a matter of fact, this whole session is about _fright_.”

Vitriol sighed ever so slightly. This was getting repetitive.

“They say there is nothing to fear but fear itself. I beg to differ – there is _much_ to fear.”

The corner of Vitriol’s right eye twitched.

“You must fear something. A young woman such as yourself, adorning herself with pierced jewelry and unusual hairstyle most often have a fear they hide. So what is it? Fear of not being noticed? Or perhaps you are afraid of being forgotten?”

“I’m not afraid of anything particular.” her tone was dismissive.

Dr. Jonathan Crane rubbed his beardless chin thoughtfully, a curious smile distorting his face. Vitriol noticed how bony his fingers were. His skin was so pale with a tint of grey, nearly ashen. “Interesting..” he finally took note and wrote something on his papers.

Vitriol snorted in her mind. Dr. Crane really did prefer being the one in charge of the sessions! Somehow, that reminded Vitriol about the Riddler.. Both were intellectuals of the mind, egoistic and conceited. At least Jonathan Crane seemed much more collected and well-mannered. For now at least. She found herself wondering what would Crane do, when agitated. Would he be like Nygma, full of spite? She decided she didn’t want to find out.

“After a few sessions, I’m sure we shall find out what you truly fear.”

Vitriol shrugged off Dr. Crane’s investment on being in charge, so she played along and wrote down a prescription of micronutrients just in case.

“You are not quite qualified here, are you, Dr. Geier?”

She looked straight into his eyes, relaying a look of unrelenting composure. He was right and she did her best to hold on to her ruse. “What makes you think that?” Not before now she noticed the fogginess of Dr. Crane’s right eye.

“Quite simple.” His tone was arrogant. “Just now is the first time you properly looked me in the eye. All this time your gaze has been fixated somewhere past me. A professional keeps proper eye contact, which you have failed to establish. Where have you received your doctrine, Ms. Geier?”

Ada leaned back to her chair, exhaling as smoothly as she could possibly muster, fearing even the tiniest vibration would betray her. “Gotham University.”

“Which field?”

“Biochemistry.” And before Dr. Crane was about to respond, Vitriol continued: “I was hired as temporary help to treat the Arkham inmates for my degree in pharmacology. I may not be a psychiatrist like you, but I do know how to medically treat a troubled mind and body.”

Silence fell upon the room. Vitriol was actually quite proud of herself for not jumping at the sudden thump at the wall that was followed by distant howling. An inmate next door was apparently having a fit. Vitriol was mentally billowing. Strengthening. Shredding the vivacious skin, now a larva of calibration and resolute emerging.

Suddenly, she tilted her head and smiled. “So, what else is in your mind today?”

“On top of my head I can’t help wondering what you have in mind to treat me with.”

Vitriol hesitated only for a second. “Micronutrients.”

“Fascinating, and pray tell why?”

“Judging by your leg brace I assume you are still recovering from past injuries. You might be suffering from mild calcium and vitamin C deficiency. Also, biotin will do good to your complex and vitamin D and zinc for immune system.”

“No happy pills?”

“Do you feel you need some?”

“No, but considering the fact that you are a _psychopharmacist,_ ” Vitriol did not appreciate the audible air quotes. “One would assume you aim to pump me with every possible antipsychotic to reap all the crops from the fields of pharmaceutical sponsors.”

“You underestimate me. I don’t have sponsors at the moment and even if I did, the prescriptions would fall to those, who truly needed them.”

Dr. Jonathan Crane smiled and nodded. “Of course, my apologies. It was rude of me to assume otherwise.” Somehow his words sounded insincere.

“Alright, Dr. Crane. I accept your apology. I suppose that’s enough for today. I shall see you again tomorrow.”

When Vitriol left the cell, she couldn’t help but shudder. Scarecrow sure was a creepy one. Almost creepier than Mad Hatter! While the Hatter was chaotic in his perverted, highly delusional ways, with Scarecrow you were always under the glass, being observed, weaknesses examined, mentally dissected.. Her only hope was to not have to check up on this loony too often. She had a feeling she only dodged a bullet today.

 

 

Vitriol spilled her coffee and dropped the mug on the floor, shattering it on the black and white checkered floor when a loud explosion tremored throughout Arkham Asylum. The two nurses, who had also been on their coffee break, ran as soon as the alarm roared like a murderous beast and the emergency lamps flashed red. When thenurses had disappeared through the door, screams resounded among hysteric noises and rioting.

Out of all the Arkham staff members, Vitriol was the only one who wasn’t surprised by the fleeing prisoners. She was the only one who knew it was coming, sooner or later. During a free activity hour two days before, she had overheard Black Mask talking about a big breakout. Nearly all of the inmates (mostly in penitentiary and some from intensive care unit) were all in it. Even the Riddler. He had accidentally given her a clue about it, while threatening her about his vengeance.

Why didn’t she report to the higher staff members about the breakout? She was not an idiot. Working at Arkham Asylum, in the middle of the criminally insane like Black Mask, Two-Face, Calendar Man and Mr. Zsasz, there is no doubt they will come after her. And besides, she was curious about how this breakout would play out. While the Asylum didn’t have many psychiatric doctors or therapists at the moment, there were a hell lot of guards.

Glass was breaking and furniture was thrown about in the hallway. Running, screaming, chaos. Vitriol sneaked towards the door, her handbag tightly hung over her shoulder. She poked her head out. The very second she saw a behemoth rampaging through the hallway, she hid behind the doorway, just barely noting the green, steel-hard scales covering the entirety of the beast. That must have been, she suddenly realized, the alleged Killer Croc, and she no longer wondered about the devastating damage done upon Scarecrow.

Her heart pounded while she listened to the giant wreaking havoc among the guards. Shrieks, crying, bones breaking. The hurried footsteps didn’t cease when the monster was finally gone. There were still inmates running or fighting with the guards.

Vitriol peeked out again. She saw a screaming nurse running from her left, chased by Firefly and Bane taking down a group of guards. No one seemed to pay her attention. If she was swift enough, she could run down the hallway, into Dr. Rueben’s office and escape through the window.

For her misfortune, a figure that, for a moment, had been absorbed in the overwhelming display of fear spotted her by accident. A smirk came over him and he strode after her. He caught her by the arms and roughly pushed her through the women’s bathroom door, out of the chaos.

He shivered in delight upon hearing her shriek from surprise at the sudden maltreatment, her leathery handbag flying across the floor. And he shuddered again as she gasped at the sight of him, when he turned her around. He shoved her against a stall door, his frame on hers as he brought his right, gloved hand into her sight. “Hello, pumpkin!” he crooned, his tone calm and lingering.

Vitriol squirmed, bringing her hands to his flat chest, her wide-eyed gaze shifting between the hazy blue eyes and the four, sharp-needled syringes on his knuckles that dangerously gestured towards her face. “Dr. Crane..!” was her nearly breathless reply.

“Please, call me Scarecrow. We’re not in session now, are we, Dr. Geier?” his clement voice sounded sinister and raspy. He wound the gloved hand around her throat, not to choke her but to hold her still, though she made not a move, save for winding her hands about his wrist. But no, it was not him in particular that she was afraid of.. But she will be!

With his left, contraptionless hand he touched Dr. Geier’s cheek and caressed it with his bony knuckles. “Or should I call you.. _Vitriol_?” The filters on his mask now close to her face, he let out a small dose of fear gas, odorless and imperceptible.

Vitriol’s lower lip suddenly quivered, but only for a second, and she looked away.

“Yes, I know who you are, but you needn’t worry. Doctor-patient confidentiality.” There was amusement in his tone when he slowly slid his rough fingertips over Vitriol’s collarbone, eventually passing over the cleavage of her breasts down towards her waist. “So tell me, pumpkin..” Scarecrow whispered. “What.. are you..” His fingers reached the border of her black top and the waistband of her black, lush and ruffled mullet skirt. “..afraid of?”

The Scarecrow could sense her heartbeat rising, her whole body tensing. She was licking her lips nervously and her eyes seemed hazy for a tiny little second. Then, the Scarecrow inhaled in apprehension, when he felt her hips alter their angle, only a few degrees, and her legs shift, only for an inkling bit. “Aah!” he uttered softly, pleased. “How very interesting.. You were right, you may not have a particular fear, nothing you acknowledge. Yet..” He crept his hand underneath the skirt, parting her thighs with his own leg and received a gasp when his fingers brushed over her hairless mound and vulvar slit. “But you are _phobophiliac_.”

Vitriol squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath as those callused fingertips drew down, down over her lower lips and up again in a tantalizing, overpowering manner. “I’m not particularly savant on paraphilias, but yours is an exceptional one. You will make my most intriguing test subject!” The delighted Scarecrow watched the girl slowly fall into dismay so outstanding it was almost euphoric. She was so wet his fingers were soaked. And he had given her such a small dose of his chemicals!

Parting the outer lips with his index and ring fingers, Scarecrow brought his rough middle finger at Vitriol’s jewel, tapping at it, beguiling it, never letting his eyes off of her face. He hissed in mirth and maddeningly intensive arousal when Vitriol’s hips buckled and a high-pitched whimper squeezed out through her strained vocal cords. “Let’s find out what you fear.” Scarecrow purred and released a stronger dose of his fear gas.

Upon inhaling it, Vitriol’s eyes blinked wide open and she froze, taking shallow gasps. She looked straight into him, but didn’t utter a word. Scarecrow chortled and suddenly sent her onto the floor.

Vitriol cried out when the tiles abraded her knees and the fall stung a nerve in her right elbow. The masked villain psychiatrist took a handful of his subject’s hair into a tight fist and pulled the unwilling girl on her knees before him. Hurriedly, while the terror-stricken girl struggled and tried to push him away, Scarecrow held her head with the needled hand and unfastened his trousers with the other.

The soon he pulled out his slowly hardening, lustful member, he forced it to Vitriol’s clamped lips. “Open your mouth.” he growled, producing an irritable, distorted noise, but the girl, teary eyed, still refused and pushed him by his thighs, trembling. “Open it!”

By bringing the syringes at her face, she gasped and Scarecrow filled her mouth with himself, sliding deep into the warmth and slipperiness. He grunted at the thrilling feel of her pharynx clenching and vibrating as she choked on his phallus, her nails clawing at his waist. He held her head with both hands and began to pump her mouth, utterly pleased of her pierced tongue. “What do you see, child?” he breathed, his voice rasping. “What is it that keeps you awake at nights? Fear of darkness?”

Vitriol had her eyes squinted as her hands moved about the canisters fixed to his waist, weak and shaky, as though cold and numb.

“Fear of heights? Fear of closed spaces? Fear of death?” Scarecrow kept on pocking around, both figuratively and literally.

No specific reaction from Vitriol. What was she seeing?

“Fear of.. sexual abuse?”

Now, she flinched and tried to spit him out. He was on the right course!

“There it is..” Scarecrow mused to himself, and sped up the thrusting. “Do you fear of becoming utterly helpless? Being raped? Are you afraid of losing control?” He soon felt like he was going to burst, so he quickly withdrew and got a hold of himself, bracing himself to not rise to crescendo so soon, not quite yet. “Look at me.” he hissed as he bowed down, petting Vitriol’s left cheek and lips with his knob, smearing her face with precum.

Vitriol shook like a leaf when she turned her fearful gaze up at him. She jumped a little when something suddenly thumped outside. The ruckus still hadn’t ceased. The Arkham inmates sure were making a racket.

Scarecrow closed in, tinkering the syringes on his glove against each other. “Perhaps you fear..” he murmured, before he pushed Vitriol by the chest, grasped her legs and roughly tugged at them, making her fall on her back with a shriek. “Sudden moves?” He lifted her skirt and tore her green, lacy lingerie like a piece of paper.

“No..! Stop it!” Vitriol whimpered, kicking and reaching her hands towards him, trying to keep him away (of course, in vain, but in childish hopes that the predator would realize she was dead meat). “Please!”

“Oh, but we’re only getting started, pumpkin!” He clawed at her top under her lab coat and yanked at the collar, making it rip only a little, but just enough to reveal the girl’s full, pierced breasts. He took only a couple of seconds to admire them, before he gripped Vitriol by her arms and forced himself upon her.

Vitriol stifled a cry upon his weight. She struggled, and the Scarecrow bullied his way in between her legs. For such a bony, yet well built man, he was surprisingly strong. Strangling her with the right, gloved hand, he groped her breast too keenly for comfort. Vitriol fought against asphyxiation by trying to tear the talons from her throat, but inside, she knew when she was beaten. The Scarecrow could see it through her emerging tears.

“Are you afraid of not being able to anticipate what’s coming next?” Scarecrow breathed, while he parted their hips just enough he could tease that bright pink, hot, virtually dripping vulva beneath the skirt.

Shaking her head, tears rolled down Vitriol’s face as she tried to crank herself free from the master of fear with her knees and bringing her other hand to his shoulder.

“No, that’s not it..” Scarecrow sighed. “Perhaps another dose would be in order?”

Vitriol whimpered when another cloud of gas filled her lungs, now her eyes going all wild.

The Scarecrow grasped both of her buttocks to adjust her hips. “Now tell me, what..” Slowly, he guided his dripping cock to her opening and beyond. “..do you..” Little by little. “..fear?” His crooning made Vitriol shudder and she gasped, when he forced the rest of him in, deep inside, hitting her cervix. He rolled his head at feeling the tight, hot muscles around him clenching. He took in the silent, fearful sounds that escaped from Vitriol’s lips. He remained absolutely still, impaling the ever so trembling girl. So terrorized, so absolutely lost in fear she nearly wasn’t aware of his presence. So helpless, so ecstatic, so.. luscious!

Vitriol’s head hung low, her eyes tightly shut, as though ashamed. She whispered like a cornered mouse.

“What is it?” Scarecrow asked, kneading her right buttock with a restless hand and gave her a sudden thrust, squeezing a shriek out of her. “Tell me!” Taking support from the filthy floor, he pushed again.

Vitriol sobbed. She was actually sobbing! “Don’t look at me..!” she whispered. Scarecrow listened to her timorous wailing. “Please! Don’t look at me!” Oh, those sweet sounds of terror! They heightened his desire to pound her senseless so that both her body and mind would be torn apart.

He banged her violently, as though intending to break her loins, immersed in her screams and cries. She was so mixed up in fear and immense arousal that she didn’t seem to be quite sure whether to push him away or pull him closer. This fervent struggle ignited the Scarecrow’s arousal further, burning at his lower stomach. Watching her distress was ravishing, outright enchanting. Vitriol’s mind said no, but her body said hell yes. She was practically dripping! So hot, so wet..

And soon, he felt he was about to burst and he withdrew. Grasping his rod, he brought himself to a most satisfying climax with a groan, spilling his seeds all over those battered thighs.

Vitriol, disoriented and still so heated, was just about to lose her mind, until the Scarecrow pressed his heavy forearm against her collarbone, holding her still and shoved his fingers in her sore core, arching deep. Vitriol moaned and wrothe in agony and pleasure, her hips buckling every time his thumb flicked her clit. She came screaming and wailing, convulsing, her walls clamping around his fingers in spasms.

And then, he stood up. Just left her there. Abrupt. She watched as he hid his member and she felt overrun, disgraced. The Scarecrow licked at his fingers and gave her a final grimace, after which he left without a word. So cold was the gesture that it left Vitriol feeling a strong, odd sense of abandonment.

“No..!” Vitriol breathed, her cries sticking to her throat like a sour, spiky apple. She was crumbling. “Please, don’t leave!”

But her whimpering was left unheard while the repugnant hallucinations still flickered before her eyes. The commotion outside made the lights crackle. Vitriol was fully paralyzed, she was frightened. Her limbs ached, her privates were sore and she couldn’t feel her fingertips. She felt cold. Empty. Violated.

 

 

The coast was getting clearer. The Riddler had fetched his possessions and changed into his costume, before leaving this wretched place. With this many in this outbreak he had deduced the security wouldn’t have enough time nor resources to lock the place down completely. Though the Asylum had been renovated, the details in security was still lacking. How foolish of the board of directors to not learn from their mistakes.

A cry reached his ears. It was near. The entire ruckus played further away. The door to the ladies room was open and he could make out tired shifting in there. He was about to pass by it, but out of curiosity, halted. He took a quick peek to see a woman’s high-heeled leg on the floor, the rest of the body hidden, and turned to ensure no one else was present. He should hurry. There wouldn’t be much time anymore.

“Help..!” he heard a soft plea.

Snorting at himself in his mind, the Riddler carefully inched inside the bathroom, to find Ada Geier lying on the floor, spread, hiccupping through her sobbing. Her exposed breasts trembled at her shallow breathing and her sweaty, slimy thighs shuddered. Seeing those grey, horrified eyes roll about in their sockets the Riddler knew exactly what had happened. There was only one man who could have done this.

The Riddler wrinkled his nose at the sight. His nemesis lying there, helpless, defiled. It was just as she deserved. But it wasn’t by his hand. It was sickening. The Riddler fought the urge to just kick her. Yet, he couldn’t avoid the thought of not leaving this wretched female.

“Please.. No more..!” her voice was coarse. This woman was far out.

In his mind, the Riddler cursed at himself before grasping Ada and her bag, lifting her off the floor and carrying her out.


	2. The Experiment

When she came to the first thing she saw was a high rafted ceiling. She was lying on a tattered couch. A dowdy quilt had been thrown over her. She was in a small storage facility renovated for humble living. Crates and tables were scattered at the far left end of the hall, to the side of her feet. At her right, her heart jumped a little at the sight the Riddler sitting by another table, under a dim, pale light, scribbling on a newspaper. Probably filling out a dull crossword puzzle by the looks of things.

He apparently had heard her shift, when he sighed. “So you finally woke up.” Déjà vu. It was like he had imprisoned her all over again. Only this time she was not restrained on a gruesome chair.

Ada cranked herself up to lean against her forearm, lifting the quilt to cover her nudity. “Where am I and where are my clothes?” She was feeling a little bit woozy, hung-overish.

“You are in my.. temporary residence. That is all there was left of your clothes. I took the liberty of washing them. And you.” The Riddler gestured the chair next to him. The only items on that chair were Ada’s lab coat, torn shirt and skirt. Also her handbag was neatly seated and her shoes placed under a chair. “You’re welcome.”

By the tone of his voice and him never lifting his gaze from the puzzle, Ada was sure the Riddler knew what had happened. She remembered. In her haze, she had barely made out his presence before fainting. She also remembered the chaos, the pain, the fear.. the uncontrollable beast that had ravaged her.

The Riddler, Edward, was not wearing his getup. Just regular, faded black jeans and a dark grey, oversized sweater. He seemed tired, leaning to his hand, filling the crosswords. He seemed sleep-depraved, haggard. Ada found it peculiar – completely opposite to what he was when she first met him. It was not a very fond memory and being here made it worse.

Ada stood up, wrapping the quilt around her body and approached the table. She watched as Edward sighed, finishing the puzzle and lighting up a cigarette. “May I?” she asked. She was exhausted.

Edward lazily lifted his gaze for the first time, looked at her for a brief second, before offering her a cigarette.

Lighting her cigarette, she inhaled the smoke, toxins rushing into her, and she grew relaxed, which was an odd feeling in the presence of the Riddler. Oh, how she had missed these poisonous cancer sticks. The smoke made rounded, nigh geometrical shapes, when she slowly exhaled.

“Care to talk about it?” There was a hint of empathy in Edward’s tone, which was equally odd to the lack color about him. He took a drag.

“No.” was Ada’s simple answer.

“I can’t say I wasn’t glad to see you all smeared and degraded, but it was supposed to be me punishing you. It was supposed to be my providence.”

“We can’t always have what we want, you know.” Her insides felt cold.

Bitterness returned to Edward and he banged the tabletop with his fist. “It is _I_ who were supposed to own you! If only you had agreed upon my terms..! ”

Despite this outburst, Ada kept her apathy, even if she didn’t want to. “No.” she interrupted. All felt so cold, so.. meaningless? No, not that, it was.. something else. “Not the way you treated me.” She stared into nothingness somewhere over the round table. She took a drag. “You used me and I was broken. But I put myself together and broke you in return. Somewhere between when I left you and before the riot at Arkham there could have been a slight chance for us to team up, but now.. everything’s changed.”

Edward slumped in his chair, astonished. Not because of hearing there had been a chance for partnership, but.. “Good grief!” he said silently in disbelief. “You’re not seriously saying..?”

Ada looked Edward straight in the eye in disgust. “Of course not!” Something awoke. “I work alone.” She took one last long drag of her cigarette and put it out on the dirty ashtray in the middle of the table. She also tossed the quilt on the floor and put her hands on her hips, strong, independent. Edward’s gaze swiftly scanned her nude body, but only for a quick second as she asserted herself. “What happened yesterday is no concern of yours. You are to wipe it out of your mind and never speak of it again.” And she was dead serious, killing the slightest indefinite presumption.

Now that was the Vitriol Edward knew. But there was also something new. A certain kind of forte. Prestige. He couldn’t help himself from giving a slight smirk. “Very well then.” He also put out his cigarette. “Wanna do it for old times’ sake, though?”

Ada raised her brows and snorted at the insolent, borderline insulting thought. “Shut the fuck up.” The impudence! Edward’s perversion knew no boundaries. What embittered Ada more was that she actually missed her time at his hideout, but only the last few hours when she had gained the upper hand. Humiliating him after all his exploitations had been fun in its own way.

Edward laughed gently at her retort.

Ada got dressed and slipped into her shoes. “It pains me to ask this, but..” Ada started as she felt her pockets and checked her bag. All she had before the riot were still there. “Why did you save me?” She never looked at Edward as she asked this.

There was a sigh that left Ada ponder about what was truly going on in his head. “To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure myself either. I mean I.. I just couldn’t leave you there. I am capable of feeling empathy, you know.”

Ada bit her lower lip. Despite the history, Edward wasn’t such a prick after all. Just.. wicked and mischievous. Obsessive compulsive with a hint of mania. Some antidepressants would do him good. Something to make him forget everything. Forget all about her. “Right. Thank you.” She shrugged. “Well, I’m leaving now.” she informed as she hung the bag over her shoulder. When she passed by, she gently touched the Riddler’s shoulder partingly.

Edward twitched as she walked to the roller door. “You’re still going to pay.”

Ada lifted the door and turned around, chuckling at the insistence. A gentle breeze tickled at her bare shins as she leaned her hands against the roller door’s edge. She gave a sweet, fake smile – fucking around with him, to put it bluntly. “No, I’m not. Truce?”

Edward sighed with a smile. “Fine.” He affirmed before Ada pulled down the door.

Ada was gone already, when the Riddler uttered the last words appointed to her before the two would never see each other again. “I’ll miss you.”

 

 

The next morning Ada dressed up and did her make-up like she always did. A long bath before sleeping had done a miracle to her. Life goes on. The riot at Arkham Asylum did very little to the weekly schedules. Life had to go on, even at the Asylum. Despite what had happened, in spite the storm, life had to go on.

Keys, wallet, cell phone, make-up supplies, taser, ID-card, supply bag of medication, supplements and poisons. Yes, she had everything with her in her leathery coffin handbag. She was ready to go. Ada clicked her neck and took a deep breath. Everything was fine. The soon she opened the door to leave, she didn’t even make it to let out the tiniest scream when a forceful hand pressed against her mouth and she was slammed against the hallway wall, her handbag torn off of her shoulder onto the floor and kicked away.

The door was also hurriedly slammed shut when the Scarecrow weighed her down with his arms, hostile and formidable. Even though he shushed her, she hadn’t the slightest sentiment to utter a word.

The man stared at her for the longest of moments. The orange sunrise shone over his features through the window, his blue eyes seeming more pallid and lifeless. He was breathing heavily and it rasped through the respirators of his torn burlap mask. He kept staring at her, as if waiting, searching for something. Ada felt as though her lungs had been filled with cotton, suffocating her. Icy were the daggers that the man shot through his intense eyes.

Ada was glued to the wall, not because of Scarecrow but the urge to be swallowed by concrete. The grip about her loosened as though the Scarecrow knew she wasn’t about to leave his sight. Ada swallowed. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“It’s time for your check up.” he spoke in a low, nearly sensuous tone, his voice like honey.

Ada’s brows furrowed as she steeled her mind. She wasn’t going to yield to Crane’s bedside manners. She wouldn’t allow it. Her mind rushed with options and outcomes of how to strive. She assumed, as crippled as he was, she would best him in a combat, but just barely. He had the upper hand for now. All she needed was an opportunity. “I never scheduled for your reception.” If only she could get the taser in her handbag.. “Besides, you’re _my_ patient.”

A dismissive snort. “Nonsense, you were my patient the very moment we met!” He brought both his hands upon Ada’s face, brushing away the stray strands of green hair as though to examine her more closely. “Or rather..” he continued, bringing himself closer. “My subject.”

Slowly and oh so carefully, Ada brought her hands to the Scarecrow’s wrists, feeling the buckles of his wrist-straps, never derailing her gaze from his. “You’re sick, Dr. Crane.” she stated, the very core of her feeling cold. She knew he knew she was terrified. “You should be back in Arkham.”

“Shh, pumpkin, you’re shaking!” the Scarecrow appeased, rubbing a callused thumb over her cheek, completely ignoring her words. “The good doctor is here. Tell me, where it hurts.”

Ada clenched her teeth. “Ask yourself!” And then, she quickly pushed, wrenched Scarecrow by his wrists to her left and kicked at the left side of his left knee with the tip of her shoe so that the contraption made a small crackling sound. The Scarecrow let out a bloodcurdlingly agonized howl as he collapsed onto the floor, in front of the door, his hands about the mechanics.

Suffocating a cry, her hands shaking, Ada ran for her bag, for the taser. Her legs gave out in the middle of her run as her ankles were tugged at. No matter how she struggled, the Scarecrow quickly crept over her to grasp at her right hand, which held the taser she had managed to dig out. After a quick scuffle with two sets of arms tossing about, Scarecrow threw the taser across the room and seized Ada, but she had managed to twist herself to face him, curl up her legs and push him away with her knees. She coiled like a snake to wind herself from Scarecrow’s grasp and she kicked at his stomach so hard he lost his breath.

As he fought for air, Ada shambled up and ran into the kitchen nearby to pull out a knife from the drawer. She was just in time to see the predator halt mere meters from her, now raising his hands as he still collected himself. “Don’t come near me!” Ada hissed as she pointed the knife firmly at him.

“Now, calm down, Miss Geier. You don’t want to do anything rash. I can see you are scared.” He limped just a step forward, laying his left hand upon his injured leg to adjust the mechanism.

“I told you already, there’s nothing I fear!”

She could make out a faint smile through the stitching. “Quite the contrary, you fear _much_.” His tone was so low it almost sounded like a growl. “Just now, you’re afraid if you can hold your ground against me.”

Ada jumped slightly as the Scarecrow took another step closer. Despite the mask, his face revealed tender delight at her reaction, and he brought an index finger to where his lips once were. “You are afraid that you cannot be safe even in your own house.“

Ada let out a silent sob. Scarecrow was now within arms reach, past the kitchen island that had separated them before. Ada was trembling. He was right – she was terrified of losing even the slightest control she might have had. She frowned. “I said,” Hissing through clenched teeth, she fought for slightest govern. “Don’t come near me!” And as she flung forth, Scarecrow evaded the attack by shuffling just a fraction to his side, took a hold of both of her wrists, suddenly tightly spun behind her.

She struggled with all her might, snarling, but the man struck her against the kitchen island and gave her right wrist a tight slam against the counter, forcing a searing pain unclench her grip of the knife. The knife clattered atop the wooden surface and Ada cried as the Scarecrow weighed himself on her, pressing her against the counter, preventing any further movement.

“What do you want from me?” she found herself whimpering. A feeling of desperation came flooding in.

Ada shivered when he spoke beneath his breath, his face buried into her hair. “I have chosen you to be my test subject. You are..” His breath rasped. “A perfect subject.” He brought his gloved, contraptioned hand at her throat. “It’s not like everyone gets.. _excited_ by thrill.”

In her mind, Ada was crumbling. Her lower back hurt from the steel canisters strapped about Scarecrow’s waist.

“I bet you’re all wet even as we speak.. I could have used my toxins any moment I arrived here, you know.”

Ada grunted and gave a struggle, but it hurt too much. “Then why didn’t you?” Words felt like catching in her throat, stinging at her lungs and they tasted foul.

“All part of the experiment, my dear. Now, perhaps we should adjourn where no one can hear you scream, shall we?”

A prick at her neck and everything grew black.

 

 

Jonathan Crane sat at a table, once again scribbling notes. Candles lighted the room. Ada was lying on an old chaise lounge a little further from his desk. No matter how quietly and carefully she tried to sit up, the Doctor sensed her shift and turned to her. “Well then, Ms. Geier, ready to start our session?”

The Doctor took note of her doubtful decision of not moving from the chaise lounge. The girl’s eyes wandered around the place, the old machinery about the place. Old, shabby furniture and piles of fabrics littered the space.

“So..” the Doctor slid closer to her with his office chair, a notebook and pen in his hands. “How are we feeling today?”

Ada seemed lethargic, her limbs were beaten. “Not very good.” was her answer. Her gaze wandered to another table further away, the one with multiple vials, burners, beakers, retorts and test tubes. No doubt in emerging awe.

“Oh?”

“Waking up in a strange place..” She scanned the surroundings, probably for an exit, but it was too murky to even see the walls. “It’s off-putting.”

“Of course, understandable.” He wrote on his notes _. Subject seems relatively calm, yet alert_. “I’m going to perform a quick physical examination so, if you please, be kind and sit up.”

For a moment, the Doctor sensed hesitation in the girl. Distrust was predictable and even favorable for the experiment. Ada eventually sat up, seeming slightly surprised by the patient gown she was dressed with. “I thought you weren’t that kind of doctor.”

As he set the stethoscope he had hanging about his neck unto his ears, the Doctor breathed on the resonator before lowering the neckline of the subject’s gown and pressed the platen on her chest. “Even as a psychiatrist there are some procedures that need to be performed. To understand the full extent of the anatomy of fear.” Mild palpitations. “Now take deep breaths.” he told as he moved the resonator a little.

She did as she was told and the Scarecrow immediately heard light tremble. A quiver in her breath. She was nervous. “Nothing irregular.” He placed the stethoscope on the armrest of his chair and took notes. Next, he took out a small flashlight from his pocket. “Let’s have a look at your eyes.”

Ada jumped a little at his touch. Holding her head still, he flashed the light at her left eye, then the right. All normal. Both retracted and dilated, as they should. There were no abnormalities to hinder his future observations. “And my, what beautiful eyes you have.” He complimented, never forgetting bedside manners, making Ada swallow and lower her gaze. She was clearly shaken. The walls were down. She had retracted to timidness – a childish state of vulnerability.

After taking more notes, he put the flashlight back into his pocket and carried on with more questions. “Do you have any pains? Neck tension? Headache?”

“No.”

“Feeling nauseous?”

“A little.”

“Have you been taking your iron supplements?”

It was downright adorable when Ada pulled her chin down, turning her right cheek to him, her brows furrowing. “How do you know?”

Scarecrow sneered. “I’m a doctor, I’ve read your medical report.” The girl seemed to tense up. “Besides, judging by the pallor of your skin you were either born very fair and/or you suffer from mild anaemia.”

She pursed her lips together and swallowed again. She was not liking this.

“So? Have you?”

She sighed. “Yes..”

He wrote everything down. “How about your legs? Do they feel weak?”

Ada’s eyes dropped to her feet and the scattered strands of hay about the floor. “A little..”

“Do you feel restless? Uneasy?”

“Yes.”

_Subject expresses feelings of unrest and physical weakness. Nothing unexpected considering her current situation._

“Any other medication I should know about?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Any antihypertensive drugs? Allergy medication? The information is vital in treating you.”

Her mouth puckered tighter. “No.”

“How about contraceptives?”

Ada seemed nearly offended by the question. “Nuvaring.” she mumbled.

“Interesting..” Scarecrow thought for a moment. “Tell me, Ms. Geier, how many sexual partners have you had in the past couple of years?”

Ada was appalled by the unexpected, straightforward question. “How does that have to do with anything?”

The Scarecrow gave her a meaningful look. “I’m the one asking questions here. You are not to question my methods.”

A lump arose in Ada’s throat and she swallowed. “Five.”

“And how long did these relationships last?”

“Two of them about six months, one of them two months and one no more than a week.”

“Were there romance involved?”

“No.” the Witch answered his question.

 _Subject reports of having been sexually active in the past, which in turn suggests she is no stranger to carnal sensations. Some inexperience would have been most profitable for experimenting. However, it is not a deal-breaking factor. She is still a flourishing breeding ground for experiments to come._ He wrote down and straightened, kicking himself back to his desk. Upon returning, he had a small device in his hand. “Now, I need you to lay down and spread your legs for me.”

Ada hunched, clearly not comfortable with the idea. Scarecrow couldn’t help but smile at her reaction. A little color rose upon her cheeks as her whole body slumped. “What is that?” she asked meekly – a rather uncommon mannerism of her.

“This is a _clitoral photoplethysmograph_. It’s a device to measure clitoral blood flow. This particular unit is the latest prototype by _WayneTech_ with a monitor attached to it.”

There was no telling did Ada’s body language exhibit fear or disgust. Perhaps both? “No.” she said with shaky assurance. “I’m not comfortable with this.” Her tone was to the point, reserved and well mannered. Clearly she had figured out that thoughtless actions or insults were not the correct way to handle the situation.

“Please, Ms. Geier. It’s all part of the experiment. Think of it as a scientific contribution.”

“What if I refuse?”

Scarecrow relayed a look of severity. “Better question: are you prepared to face horrors beyond imagination? Do you think you are able to overcome the greatest fears known to mankind? Look around.” He gestured behind him, alluding the numerous canisters splayed about the facilities. He detected trepidation veil Ada’s grey eyes. “These supplies are enough to bring a hundred Banes into brink of insanity. Are you willing to take that chance?” He lifted his right hand to show her the device strapped to his knuckles, reminding her that the nightmares were conveniently within reach. “Do realize that we can do this the easy way or the _horrible_ way.”

To Scarecrow’s surprise, Ada obliged without further objections and lay on the chair, bringing her knees up. The Doctor took a seat at her feet and lifted the hem of the girl’s gown up to her waist to reveal her perfectly porcelain vulva, presented to him like a culinary main course. He smiled at her strain as she closed her eyes tightly and laid her hands on her stomach.

“Don’t worry, pumpkin.” he murmured. “I’ll be gentle.” With that, he brought his right hand at her mound to part her lower lips.

Ada immediately tensed as he inserted the light source probe through her private door and switched on the monitor. A grainy, grayscale image appeared on the screen. The blood flow seemed about right, but what about when introduced to a little incentive? “Now, let’s try some stimulation.”

The Doctor could sense the subject halt her breath as he softly grazed her inner thigh to gently bring his fingers back at her labia. Lightly rubbing her outer lips, Scarecrow could feel the creeping arousal swell up the girl. She was writhing, her breath growing shallow as her body expressed the will to be swallowed by the chair. “Hold still.” he told, watching the monitor closely. A shiver went down his spine at the sight of the girl’s blood accelerating on the screen. “Astounding!” he sighed, feeling his own blood rushing warmly. “The blood flow indeed accelerates.” He said, mostly to himself and mostly marveling the operability of the device. He lightly dabbed at Ada’s labia minora.

A muffled cry escaped Ada’s lips. She was breaking apart, while the Doctor felt endorphic. The flow was intensifying at his fingering, the black and white image now turning more white than black. This was exhilarating!

He reached behind himself to take a quick note on his medical journal, still keeping the instrument in place. _Clitorial examination is a success. The subject is very responsive to physical stimulation – a sexually healthy individual. The main experiment may commence_. “Excellent results, Ms. Geier. We may proceed.”

“To what?” Ada managed to whimper before she broke into coughing, when Scarecrow released a dose of fear gas through the tubing on his wrist. Just a small taste to awaken unrest. He then quickly pressed a hand on her collarbone to hold her still as she kept catching her breath.

She seemed to fall into a visible sense of threat, trembling as the Doctor brought his fingers to her prone clit, flicking it ever so gently. Incomprehensible muttering escaped Ada’s rosy lips as she wrothe, forcing Scarecrow to press the elbow of his operating arm against her stomach. She was delusional in her catatonic scuffle. “Hold on, pumpkin.” What kinds of horrors, he wondered, did the girl see? “Don’t disturb the image!”

The monitor was glowing. Ada was absolutely burning and it sent an intense stirring into Scarecrow’s loins. Grinding his teeth in satisfaction, the Doctor straightened and slowly withdrew the device, watching the light source nearly drip with her lubricants. He looked at Ada dead in the eye as he brought the instrument in view. It was absolutely slimy. “Very good, Ms. Geier.” he complimented and took a long, lewd lick of the probe, savoring her taste, never breaking eye contact. “Very good.” he crooned, switched the power off and laid the device on a nearby drawer.

He picked up his noting equipment and wrote down: _As expected, even a small dose of fear gas indeed heightens the subject’s responsiveness to sexual stimulation. Her body language indicates feelings of threat and anxiety. Her legs, however.._ He glanced at the clenched legs beside him and at the glistening slit of pinkish hue. Her hips were slightly shifting. _They seem to be missing something from between them_.

He laid the pen and notebook on the drawer and took a better position by placing his feet on the floor at each side of the chair and brought the girl’s own legs around him.

She immediately flinched and strove to twist herself away, pushing with her hands. “No! Please.. don’t!” she whimpered as the Doctor firmly grasped her wrists, hushing her. She cried, when her hands were solemnly placed on her chest.

“Not so soon. There is no rush. We have all the time in the world, _Vitriol_.” he spoke, smiling mischievously.

Ada’s eyes darted, speechless, as Scarecrow parted her knees. She gasped as fingers punctured her, an oppressive hand rested upon her mount and a thumb came to tease her amenable spot. He rolled his eyes and inhaled sharply as another shiver washed over him, awakening intensifying arousal at the helpless squirming of the girl. Such a delight, this subject of his!

“Please, no..!” Ada cried and reached out to Scarecrow’s arms, trying to push him off of her, but the horrifying, disgusting sights flashing before her eyes had rendered her weak. Scarecrow knew, despite the obvious distress, she was positively intoxicated by the pleasure he induced by curving the two fingers inside her slightly upwards. He may not have qualification in gynecology, but he did know a thing or two about female anatomy.

“I can’t..!” this little sob awoke the Doctor’s attention and he leaned in, just slightly, never ceasing his manual laboring.

“What is it, pumpkin?” he asked, almost lovingly.

But he never received an answer.

He pushed his fingers deeper inside, all the way to his knuckles, squeezing a moan out deep from Ada’s throat. He gave a little shake as if to awaken her from a dream, to make her inner muscles clench tightly around his digits. “What do you see?” Her eyes met his, but only for a second before she turned away like the very sight of him made her nauseous. Was he monstrous in her delusions? Revolting? Downright despicable? He quickly grasped her chin, halting all stimulation. “Answer me!” he growled.

“S-s-static..!” she managed to whisper, her eyes not able to focus on anything. “Tendrils.. putrefaction..!”

Scarecow smiled shortly.

“It’s sickening!”

Then, he released another, slightly stronger dose of fear gas and, as Ada coughed again, he hurriedly undid his pants. He wasn’t fast enough as the girl broke into a hysteric struggle, her arms flying about. He wound his left hand around her neck so firmly her breath wheezed, and pressed her against the raised backrest of the chair, disinterring his prurient cock.

Without further haste, the Doctor guided his member into her tight, slippery cavity and let out a nearly relieved groan. Ada cried out as though splitting in half, her hands driving at his face, panicking. Scarecrow immediately took a hold of them, pinned them down against the leathery surface of the chair and withdrew just to push himself back in with a violent thrust. Ada screamed in a mixture of fright, pain and pleasure as he ravaged her with firm penetrations, the man so close to her that she could feel his breath upon her.

The Doctor lulled his head in ecstasy, enjoying the tightness and warmth of his subject’s pussy and the sheer terror she was exhibiting. What a charming chime to his ears, those screams! “That’s it, give in to the fear!” he encouraged. “Let the nightmares embrace you!”

Ada was crying, her lush eye make-up smearing down streaks upon her cheeks, her hips now conforming the Scarecrow’s, much to his pleasure. He then suddenly let go of her hands to rip the neckline of her gown to reveal fruitful breast. He cusped one of them and leaned in to lick a salty tear from the girl’s cheek. Playing with her silvery nipple ring, he gently tugged at it as he buried his face to the nape of her neck in nearly aching frenzy. No, he mustn’t derail. He needed to see her, the every passing moment of her dread.

He pulled himself upright to take a glance at the lascivious sight of their conjoined genitalia and the slippery mess they produced. Ada, however, seemed mentally frozen. Her trembling hands reached out to his chest, neither pushing him away nor pulling him in. He watched as her delicious breasts bounced at his rhythmic, purposive thrusts, pubic bone brushing against her hot nub, fervently, as though delirious. With each thrust he felt the back wall of her convulsing insides, tantalizing the need to burst deep within her. Scarecrow had lost the analytical side of him, now there was only a lustful monster.

Leaning to the backrest above her head, Scarecrow grasped her right buttock and hastened the pace, watching the girl twist feverishly, her green hair now a mess and sticking to her sweaty face, her delicate fingers clutching at his jacket. Her face was contorted with fright and pleasure, when she finally screamed, her voice ringing through the walls as she tightened around him, her hips buckling uncontrollably, falling into a powerful orgasm.

Scarecrow’s head tossed at this, warmth flushing over him, his ears buzzing from the sensuous screaming and he buried himself all the way into the girl to come with a gruff, relieved grunt, filling her with his seed. One final thrust and his whole body jerked. Heavily breathing, he closed his eyes and licked his dry lips, utterly pleased by the release. This had been a successful and a rather satisfying session.

He turned to Ada and softly grazed her waist beneath the torn patient gown, as though to calm her. Despite her trembling, she didn’t seem that threatened anymore – rather lachrymose. Ashamed perhaps? Emotionally hurt? The fear toxin was slowly wearing off. “Very good, Ms. Geier.” he told beneath his breath and slowly pulled out, standing up, Ada’s legs giving out, her bare feet against the cold concrete floor as she weakly tugged down her gown, while the Scarecrow hid his manhood. He reached out to the drawer, where he picked up some rags to wipe away his loads that had burst and dripped twixt Ada’s legs, staining the leather lounge.

Ada turned to her side, curling into a ball, when he had finished cleaning and thrown the rags into a nearby trashcan.

Scarecrow retrieved his pen and notebook to write down: _The subject envisioned static, tendrils and putrefaction under the influence of mild and volatile doses of fear gas. Different kinds of fears in comparison prior experimentation, most probably due to differing dosages. She indeed doesn’t seem to have a particular phobia, but aside her headstrong, determined exterior she is fearful under right circumstances. Her arousal towards thrill is most exquisite. Looking forward to next session._

After returning his noting equipment back to his work desk, Scarecrow poured a glass full of water from the pitcher he had brought earlier and returned to his subject, who still lay there in fetal position, her eyes fixed into nothingness. She nearly reminded of a nautiloid. “I think that concludes our today’s session. We shall continue another time. Here, you must be parched.”

Ada awoke from her trance and languidly sat up. “There’s more?” The very moment after her question she suddenly exhaled sharply and held her stomach, seeming nauseous. She quickly took the glass and emptied the whole thing. She must have been really dehydrated.

“But of course there is. This was merely a.. _control measurement_ , if you like. Only the first phase.” he smirked, giving out a hand. “Now come, I’ll take you to your room.”

Ada gave him an ugly frown as she put the empty glass on the drawer. “I have to stay here too?”

“Preferably.” He gestured with his hand. “Come, if you please.” It was much easier and convenient to keep her here rather than having her leave after each session. Around-the-clock observation was needed to map out the outlines of her fears, to follow the trails of her growing insanity.

Ada stared at him, beneath her brows, stern, uttering not a word, struggling with a response.

Scarecrow’s polite demeanor dropped and he returned the dark expression with a growl. “It was not a suggestion.”

He could see her fight the urge to stick out her tongue as she, never taking his hand, took support of the chair’s backrest to stand up. Either because of lingering fright or physical exhaustion, her legs gave out and the Scarecrow grasped her by the arms. “Easy now.”

Ada jolted slightly. “Please, don’t tell me what to do.” she muttered, which made the Doctor wonder if there was something behind that sentence. Was there history of abuse? A compulsive need to rebel against authority figures? “You’re not my doctor.”

Scarecrow caught her again as she failed miserably at trying to walk on her own. “As a matter of fact, I am now.” And he swiftly swooped her in his lap to carry her across the room. The anxiousness of hers was tangible. “You are not in condition to go on your own.” As he went through a doorway, he suddenly hissed as a distant pain stung his left knee like a dull, dirty needle. His step had been just a little off-balanced. “Your little outburst before did quite a number to my leg. I expect you shall retain yourself from such action in the future.”

They soon arrived into a dark room and Ada was carefully laid on a hard, rigid bed. When the Scarecrow switched on the lights, Ada squinted as though the light was burning her eyes. It was a small room with naught but a bed, a small closet and a drawer-table. The yellowish paint on the wall was peeling off and there was just a single, yellowish, lonely light bulb hanging from its noose on the ceiling. The sheets on the bed probably had once been brightly colored and fashionable. Now they were faded and smelled musty.

“There is a bathroom through the door to the left and a kitchen straight ahead. I’ll leave the door open.” he turned on his heels for exit.

“Doctor Crane.” Ada’s voice was blank, but exacting.

He halted, but never turned back.

“How long am I going to stay here?”

If only she knew what heinous things he had planned for her. He gave a light chuckle and parted with the words: “Good night, Ms. Geier.” before he switched off the lights and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is still just the beginning!


	3. Ruin

There were no clocks around and the door to the main hall was locked. No windows to the outside world. Trapped again. Isolated. Alone. Just like when imprisoned by the Riddler. Almost. At least the Scarecrow let her feed herself when she wanted. He had manners. Even though she respected good manners, there was no way she was going to subdue to this.. experimentation. It insulted her, both as a woman and also as a human being. She wouldn’t allow herself to be used again. Stockholm syndrome wasn’t her style.

She was still afraid. Though the visions had been terrifying, she knew they were only visions. Yet, the things the Doctor could do.. Ada should’ve heeded Jimmy’s warning, Jonathan Crane was really getting to her. Questioning everything around her, if anything was real or just a nightmare.

When the coffee had finally dripped, she poured herself a cup and finished her sandwich. A note had been left on the kitchen counter with a little jar of iron supplements. The note read:

 

 _Good morning, Ms. Geier._  
_I need to run some errands, so I will be away for a while._  
_Help yourself with everything you find._  
  
  
_Sincerely,  
_ _Dr. Jonathan Crane._

_  
P.s. Your cosmetics are on the table._

 

Ada snorted. On the small, square table fit for two were her make-up bag and a round, head-sized mirror. It was thoughtful of him, but the gesture was suspicious. Was this just a ruse to create a false feeling of comfort before abominations? That was most probably it.

She sat at the table and took a sip of her coffee, black as usual. She took a quick glance at the door that led outside. It was still locked.

Ada sighed deeply, almost bored, and picked up a cylinder of brushes from her make-up bag. She had nothing better to do than put on her armor. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she found the tiniest pimple just below her jawline. Without hesitation, she popped it, and carried on. She splayed the dark, bluish grey eyeshadow over the creases of her eyes, careful to not shed the powdered substance.

After blending and shading, she spread the other eyeshadow, the shade of light salmon pink over her lids, before drawing quick lines with liquid eyeliner. She noted that the waterproofed version was amiss. She was sure she had had one. Had Scarecrow deliberately removed it? Somehow she had the feeling the Doctor fancied to see her cry with theatrics.

When she had picked up the mascara, she was startled by the sound of unlocking and opening of the door. She jumped and lost the grip of the mascara, dropping it on the table. She shuffled the make-up supplies as though hiding the fact she was using them. She wasn’t even sure why she did that.

Ada tensed as the Scarecrow entered. He smiled at her. It was creepy. “Good day, Ms. Geier.” he wished and seemed delighted by the brewed coffee. “Ah, wonderful!” He fetched himself a cup to pour himself some.

Ada watched him closely, not daring to bat an eye. He seemed jovial and it was questionable. Ada silently kept her eyes on him as he placed his cup onto the table opposite to her. The cup, curiously, was black and it had an orange Halloween pumpkin on it. “Please, don’t mind me.” He gestured her to carry on her task as he sat down, assuming audience wouldn’t be a bother. But it was. So terribly distracting.

Despite this, Ada cautiously started applying mascara.

“I hope all you need is there. It had been quite a bout back at your apartment.”

Bull, Ada thought. She capped the mascara when she was done. “They’re fine.” she replied meekly and picked up the lipstick. “Some kohl for my eyebrows is missing, though.”

Dr. Crane chuckled.

In the corner of her eye, Ada sensed his curious regard on her applying the lipstick. It was unnerving. She rubbed her lips together and she was done. She laid down the mirror and looked at the Scarecrow, who took a sip of his coffee. “You look lovely.” he said. An ambiguous statement that perforated Ada with shearing chill.

Ada nodded, thanked and also drank from her coffee.

“Did you sleep well?” The sappy courtesies sickened Ada.

“Not really.”

“How so?”

Ada wrinkled her nose. Scarecrow seemed all too much smug as he drank his coffee, the rictus about his face never leaving, never ridding the derision. “I think you know why.” Ada answered.

“Apologies, just trying to be polite.” Somehow Ada doubted his sincerity.

“The polite thing to do would be letting me go.”

Scarecrow shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. The experiment is far from over.”

“You’re insane. This is gaslighting. What you’re doing is insulting and sadistic. Your so called experiments are cruel and defy humanity.”

She startled and knew her words had been a mistake the very moment Scarecrow’s hand loudly laid flat on the table, his chin raised and his expression serious. “Know your place, Ms. Geier, or I’ll make sure you will never be able to sleep again.” Ada slumped at the deep and dour tone of his voice. And yet, he sneered and finished his coffee. “How about we start our today’s session, shall we?” he suggested and stood up.

Hesitating, she followed him no matter how reluctant. She didn’t want to find out the consequences for insubordination. Him referring her as Miss instead of Doctor embittered her, and she was quite certain he was aware of that. It was derogatory.

Today, as she entered the hall, Ada could make out of the surroundings better now that there was electric light instead of candles. Seemed like an old upholstery factory. There was a door at the far end. She bet it was locked.

“Please, have a seat.”

She did so and sat down on the chaise lounge as the Scarecrow seated himself on his office chair. “Let’s start with a physical.” He informed and started with listening to her heart.

Ada shivered as the Doctor slightly opened the ripped neckline of her gown. The tearing went across her cleavage, all the way down to her diaphragm. Even though this is, what Scarecrow would most probably call it, _a routine check up_ , she felt suspenseful. There was lingering tension in her soul, all because she knew what was coming and she was not looking forward to it.

“Your pulse is a little elevated.” the Doctor stated, laid the stethoscope aside and took notes.

Ada felt slight blush warming her cheeks.

“So, how are you feeling today?” the Doctor asked as he felt her forehead with an open palm.

“Still uncomfortable.”

“Any soreness?” He moved to her neck under her jaw.

“Maybe a little on the shoulders.”

“Did you take your iron supplement?”

“Yes.”

The Doctor wrote all down and put the pen and notebook into rest upon the drawer next to her chair. “Lay down and spread your legs, please.”

 _Not this again_ , she almost cried out and lay on her back, pulling up her knees. “Please, Doctor, I don’t like this.” her voice quivered and she cursed at herself in her mind.

The stitching across his face stretching, a grimace distorted the Scarecrow’s face as he seated himself between her thighs, winding her legs around his waist. “All for the good cause.” Running his harsh fingertips over her shins, up to her thighs, lifting her hems, a sudden realization flashed over his disfigured features. “Pumpkin, you’re shivering.” he said affectionately it made Ada want to vomit. “Getting scared?” He grazed his fingers over Ada’s labia, making her stir.

She didn’t make a sound and concentrated on a raft high up the ceiling, trying her best to quench discomfort. She wound her arms around herself, when she felt dry fingertips fiddling at her nether regions.

”When was the last time you masturbated?”

Her cheeks hot and tears fogging her eyes, an inkling suspicion arose in her that if she did not answer there would be greater horrors to deal with. Though Scarecrow was not too physically imposing like Killer Croc, there was no telling what he would do just to have her writhe in peril. “Almost a week ago.” Surely, in his mind, the Doctor had estimated the last time she had indulged in self-pleasuring was during her first week working at Arkham.

“What sex toys do you own?” he asked and slowly slid a pair of fingers inside her.

Ada frowned at the forced entry, denying the growing arousal at Scarecrow’s clinical inspection as he pressed his other hand on her lower abdomen while rubbing his fingers upwards, mining for her G-spot. Her hips jerked inadvertently and she knew it was the exact reaction he was going for. “I am not comfortable with this question.” she managed to finally answer.

Scarecrow chuckled, burrowing his fingers all they way to his knuckles, making it more difficult for Ada to hold back a moan. “Very well. Have you ever had anal sex?”

Ada shivered, squeezing her eyes shut. “And how do you suppose that question is less uncomfortable?”

“You already passed the last one. Now answer.”

The complacent sneer made her want to vomit. “I have.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Scarecrow continued his questionnaire with a stealthy touch at her clit.

Her mind grew foggier and she no longer knew what to do with her hands. She was feeling weak all over, save for the lavish stimulation between her legs. She wouldn’t be able to take this much longer. “More or less. It was a part of his means to blackmail me.” Her voice faltered as she spoke.

“I sense bitterness in your tone. Tell me more of this relationship.” Scarecrow withdrew and Ada sighed deep, nearly disappointed of the stimulation coming to an abrupt end. Turning to see him, she witnessed the Doctor take a long, lingering lick at his fingers, tasting her secretions, which was the filthiest sight she had seen. It sent a tingling to her spine and an urge to flee.

While the Scarecrow adjusted the apparatus about his wrist, Ada felt her pulse rise. “I don’t care to talk about it.” She only wished that morbid face would just disappear from her sight. The uneasiness of Scarecrow’s very being threw her in a horrid sensation of threat mixed with deceitful, overwhelming voluptuousness.

A sneer. “Very well then. Today, we shall try another kind of dosage. Are you ready, Vitriol?”

He called her that again. “No.” But the very moment she answered, she felt a hot prick at her inner thigh and her vision grew blurry. She jumped, gasping, feeling her heartbeat stifle her, pounding in her ears as everything around her grew darker. The man at her legs seemed ghostly now, his eyes glowing white, glaring as he shifted backwards. Ada took fright as his jaws stretched open, murky and slimy substance dripping from his mouth before that hideous maw disappeared between her legs.

She gave out a scream at the sight of him eating at her and the sensation of a slithering tongue ravishing her yearning opening. She coiled and clawed at the leather chair, and her vision was unsharp in places. Distressing drone filled her ears. Talons gripped at her thighs as she watched Scarecrow’s monstrous mouth devour her as though starved, black ink-like liquid smearing her disgustingly. She could see his crooked teeth gnaw at her, heightening her dread of a terribly painful bite. Yet, the slippery, debauched tongue that lashed at her womanhood gave her the most exquisite sexual gratification she had yet experienced. It was nerve wrecking and it bullied a disturbingly wanton moan deep from her throat.

Scarecrow parted slightly, a string of slime bedazzling between his smirk and Ada’s genitalia like a thin, silver chain. “The taste of your fear is enchanting!” he breathed. His voice was deep, distorted, imposing. His blackened tongue seemed now longer than before. The bifurcated tip snaked about her bits for a short while, consuming her, before he spoke again: “But I think we can make you delicious yet!”

Ada shrieked when Scarecrow drove the needles of his fear contraption into her left thigh, injecting her, the syringes and tubings glowing hot. Now shapes and shadows crept over the walls. They were whispering, taunting her in a language unknown to her, the walls were peeling off from paint, rotting and insects buzzed about. Ada was terrified. She struggled to escape, but the Doctor’s harsh, powerful grip dominated her, violently forcing her against the chair. “Oh, no you won’t!” his voice rang like thunder as he hurriedly undid his pants, twisted her body so that her legs coiled over his right side and he thrusted his vile tool inside her.

Ada cried as the horrid figures loomed over her wrung body, the rot spreading, the grotesque Doctor pounding her like a randy beast. She was wailing, so terrified of the visions and the aggression of the fucking. “Please! Make it stop!” she screamed, closing her eyes, but the noises kept echoing. “Make it stop! I’m begging you!”

The Scarecrow wound his left arm under Ada’s neck and brought the other to her gash, fingering at her flesh, chasing pleasure. His stately cock rubbed against her inner muscles in an unusual angle and the overwhelming fingers slithered in her sexual lubricants. “Tell me what you see.” he grunted in her ear. His voice sounded garbled.

Tears ran down her face as she hiccupped, the needles scraping at her inner thighs. She could only spread her legs to prevent herself from being pierced by the needles, which was only profitable for the Scarecrow’s penetrations. “Shadows.. everywhere! They’re watching..! Touching..” She could literally see a presence at her breast, enveloping her with a cold, ghostly grip.

A pleased noise vibrated at her ear. “Tell me more!”

She was shivering all over. She was breaking.

Suddenly, she cried at the pain that pulled at her hair. “Look at me!”

Scared, she did what she was told and saw Scarecrow’s unspeakable face frown at her, his white eyes flaming, flies and parasites crawling over his features. A horrible stench filled her lungs. “Black muck.. You’re rotting!” she whispered.

Ada startled, when harsh lips, or what ever were left of them, pressed against hers, hungrily, a tongue invading her mouth. The Doctor’s hard cock buried further and Ada whimpered at the feel of the stitching against her lips, chafing, burning holes onto her.

“Yes..!” the Scarecrow grunted from between the dour kisses. “That’s it.. Let it all out!”

There and then, the lewd touching at Ada’s lower lips forced her to the brink of orgasm and she came with a beaten scream, clamping tightly around Scarecrow, twisting and convulsing as endless spasms gripped her from the waist down. She was hurriedly flipped on all fours and violently re-entered as the Scarecrow continued to fuck her. Soreness came over Ada. She was aching and terrified of the shapes that surrounded her. Closing her eyes, she pleaded the Doctor to stop, but it only made the thrusting grow violent. The friction of the copulation chafed her like a red hot lance impaling to kill her, singeing her from the inside.

When the Doctor finally came, he skewered her, filling her up and grasping her flesh, fingers digging deep into her skin, ensuring bruises. Ada felt his whole body against her back, completely covering her. She couldn’t breathe, she felt trapped and utterly weak as the monster snaked above her, touching her, molesting her.

“Please, stop..” she sobbed, when he pulled out and coldness took over. She kept her eyes shut, crying, covering her face with her hands as she cloistered herself, curling into a ball. Never had she ever felt so beaten, humiliated and scared at the same time. It was as though her soul had broken into million pieces. She didn’t think she could take this mental torture much longer. It was unbearable. She was dying inside while the otherworldly creatures crept about her skin.

Ada startled as a light touch grazed her shoulder. “No more, please!” she cried as her body was pulled upright. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“Open your eyes.” the Doctor demanded, shaking her as he turned her to himself.

Through stinging tears, she saw the rot starting to fade away, but Scarecrow was just as appalling as ever. She felt her heart settle, and there were no rot or sludge about his face. His eyes seemed as before, but the atrocious face behind the mask, though returned to what it was, still horrified her.

“You did well.” said the Scarecrow.

Ada felt small in his grip, as though she was growing smaller by second. “You’re a monster.” she whispered. She wanted to spit at his face.

“Sticks and stones.” He wiped his mouth from the smeared blood (his) and lipstick (hers), seeming quite amused by the mess. He also wiped Ada’s hair away from her face. “You are free to go to your room, but if you need me, I’ll be right here. I have work to do. Have some water, you seem dehydrated.” he said, gesturing the water jug on the drawer as he left the girl’s side.

Taking a deep breath, Ada’s head soon started to clear as though waking up from a dream. She felt quite ill. She wanted to throw up just to make everything go away. She wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Then finally, she assimilated his words and turned to Scarecrow, dumbfounded, as he sat at his desk. “That’s it?”

The Doctor never raised his gaze from his papers. “Yes.” He fumbled with his notes and moved the test tubes closer. “Unless you need _aftercare_ , I’m all ears. Or if you want to go another round give me a half an hour and I’m ready.”

Ada shuddered, nearly gagging. What a repulsive thought. She poured herself a glass of water, holding the jug with both hands in fear her shakiness might betray her grip. “No, I mean..” She took a long sip from her glass. “I feel so shaken. Can you empathize with me? Can you imagine how.. _horrible_ I feel?”

A smirk. “Judging by your screaming orgasm, I think it’s safe to say it wasn’t all that bad.”

A frown. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do, and of course I can.” the Doctor answered, examining the tubes, not a shred of emotion in his tone. “My body is a proof that I have been to Hell and back.”

Ada almost felt sorry. Almost. “Then why are you doing this to me?” She sought for the empathic side of him, even for a tiny thread of his heartstrings. She, bitterly, found none as the Doctor finally turned to her, his eyes conveying the coldness that was his soul.

“Because I am a doctor. I do it for the science. Now, unless there is something on your mind that I, as a psychiatrist, should know, please retain from bothering me with trivial questions.”

Ada emptied her glass, feeling somehow empty herself. She watched Scarecrow combine suspicious liquids, perhaps concocting an improved version of fear toxin. She braved herself to stand up. Her legs still felt a little weak, but she approached the further table anyway, never leaving Scarecrow out of her sight. He didn’t seem to pay her attention, so she started looking around. She swallowed at the sight of the fear toxin canisters and the thought of the lethality of these supplies.

On one of the tables there were pieces of tubings, needles, screws and bolts and what seemed to be worn out respirator parts. She picked one respirator to take a closer look. The filter seemed to need replacement.

“Please, don’t touch anything.” She startled as the Doctor said this and nearly dropped the respirator. She carefully put it back.

Ada moved on to look around the machinery. It was old, vintage and seemed like they hadn’t been used in years, all dusty and rusty. Next to the machines there were abandoned workshop benches (yet, no tools) and many exquisite, baroque style armchairs and stools. Piles and rolls of fabrics. Lace, burlap, linen, velvet and taffeta. There were even a couple of old _Singer_ sowing machines, the non-electric ones.

But there, at the far end of the hall, was the door. An exit. Instinctively, she started sneaking towards it, careful not to rustle up the stray hays about the concrete floor, keeping her eyes on the Doctor. He was looking through a microscope. Only a few more feet..

She jumped, when Scarecrow spoke: “The door is locked by passcode.”

Ada cursed in her mind and sighed deeply. On her way back to the Doctor’s work desks, she picked up a large patch of soft wool fabric and threw it over her shoulders. She took a seat at the desk opposite to Scarecrow, in an old armchair, crossing her legs to keep her cold toes warm under her thighs.

Scarecrow still had his eye on the microscope. Ada sighed again, half deliberately loud. “Something troubling you?” the Doctor asked as he typed something on his computer.

Oh, sure. Now he wanted to know! “Just tired of being imprisoned.”

“I imagine Riddler’s hospitality wasn’t quite what was advertised?”

Ada lowered her brows. “How do you know about that?”

“I have my resources.” his voice sounded mysterious. Ada didn’t like it.

She suddenly had an ugly feeling that Scarecrow had deduced what the Riddler’s entrapment had entailed. She felt mortified and utterly disgusted. Mentally nude. Nevertheless, she toiled to regain her inner strength while she still could. “Then I suppose these resources also provided you the information about my other identity.”

“In a way, yes. Also, it was a lucky guess.”

Ada pressed her fingers on her throbbing temples. It felt like a cold thread pulling through her brain.

“Need an aspirin?”

“No.” she responded, squinting her eyes. “At least not the shit every pharmacy has.”

Without a word, Scarecrow reached to a drawer under his desk and presented her a small vial.

She immediately grasped it, recognizing the label. “How..? But this is mine!”

“Nice work on those compounds. I didn’t expect you were quite the chemist.”

Ada wrinkled her nose at that remark, offended by the fact he seemed surprised by her prowess. Pursing her lips she gently squeezed the dropper cap, before opening the bottle. “I may be just a stand-in at Arkham,” She squeezed the medicine into her mouth and frowned at the foul taste. “But I do know my poisons.”

“Interesting choice of profession.” Scarecrow finally turned to her, leaning to his elbows, crossing his fingers under his chin. “When did you discover your devotion?”

Ada capped the bottle and left it on the table. “The first time I was in a mandatory chemistry class and wanted to play a little prank on my classmates. Or, actually, just to have payback for teasing.”

Scarecrow raised a brow. Did her past desire for vengeance appeal to his own past torment? Ada had read his file, she knew about the bullying, the abandonment by his mother, the beatings by his grandmother.. Everything up to the layoff, cruel experimentations and desire to shroud Gotham City in an eternal darkness of terror. It all came down to his deep desire of gaining power by fear. He was a sociopath in need of heavy medication. And a new hobby.

Ada’s analysis may not be to the point and it was only through the eyes of a psychopharmacist. Regardless, there was no room to assess Jonathan Crane’s case univocal nor obvious. Nothing was as it seemed.

“Oh? What did you do?” he asked.

Ada did want to understand his reasons for tormenting her, but she couldn’t and perhaps didn’t want to. All she knew she wanted out of here. “I put a strong dose of testosterone, zinc and diatomite among other things in their sodas. They all had dark, fluffy little moustaches the next morning.”

“That hardly sounds a payback.”

“They were all girls.”

Scarecrow laughed. It was actually quite scary. Almost scarier than the visions by fear toxin. Not the fact that she had never heard him laugh out of amusement but the sudden realization that she indeed was intentionally being lead to a false sense of comfort in hopes that her future fright would become more intense. Ada may not be fully qualified in psychology, but she did have a decent head on her shoulders.

“Tell me.” the Doctor suddenly said. “Have you always been a phobophiliac?”

Ada snorted unintentionally – she knew he was about to ask that eventually. The whole word _phobophiliac_ sounded made up. “If you really need to know, then no.” She shifted in her seat, awkwardness stifling her. “Besides, isn’t there a link between fear and arousal?” She wound the wool blanket tighter around herself.

“Ah, but studies show quite the opposite. To put it simply, a man may think he is aroused when meeting an attractive woman after skydiving, when in fact he is experiencing the leftovers of his adrenaline rushing. Many stimuli have similar physiological symptoms such as elevated pulse or shortness of breath. It is a misattribution.”

“Then what about this paraphilia you keep talking about?”

“That’s just it. It’s a paraphilia - the experience of sexual arousal to situations, fantasies or people. I’m not an expert in sexual behaviorism, but, for instance, a kleptophiliac finds sexual arousal by stealing, where a hoplophiliac by guns and firearms. This includes sexual fetishisms. This kind of behavior, although marginal, has no conclusive cause, but may have been learned through association of success or mental satisfaction. And that is exactly what we are experimenting here: what is it that makes you so.. _wet_ by fear.”

Ada turned away, shuddering. It was like having therapy with a beast. With Death himself. It was not because he was giving her incredible sex, but his methods were more than questionable. She didn’t like to be afraid, not one bit, but there was no denying thrill did seem to have effect on her. Maybe she was sick in the head and deserving to be admitted to a mental institution. Yet, she needed to remind herself that this was all Scarecrow’s doing. He was manipulating her, making her question herself. It was not her fault, it was all his.

Ada awoke from her thoughts and turned back to the Doctor, who had returned to his research. “May I at least have something to do? I’m bored.”

“Sure.”

“May I use your chemistry set?”

Scarecrow raised his chin. “And let you poison my drink? No, you may not.”

At least she tried. “Fine.” she sighed and stood up. “I’ll make some clothes as you haven’t provided me with anything else than this.. rag.”

“You can sow?” the Doctor asked, actually quite surprised.

“Yea, so?” Ada didn’t feign the annoyance in her voice as she started rummaging through the piles of fabrics.

“Nothing. By all means, use anything you can find.”


	4. Transfiguration

The sessions carried on the following days like a routine, the difference being Ada’s gradually shattering mind. After each session she seemed more fearful of the Doctor’s touch, jumping at his mere voice. Crane had successfully planted a seed of terror and it was growing into a beautiful flower of nightmares. The girl barely spoke anymore, answered only when spoken to, barely came out of her room, only if she was called for session, to eat or to shower. Even the color of her hair had faded drastically, now the shade of dry moss.

Doctor Jonathan Crane couldn’t deny what a pleasure it had been to hold these sessions in every way. He enjoyed touching her, giving her a jolt each time. He took pleasure in taking notes as he fucked her in different positions, filling her, defiling her. And the screams, the lovely screams of fright! Delectable were her cries as she came in a torrent of panic, fueled by fear toxin. It left him craving more of her delicious dread.

Also, the results were fascinating. There seemed to be a limit. Too much terror did not necessarily suck her dry, but the visions rendered her into a state of shock, where she wouldn’t reach climax. In a way, enjoyed a little fight - a tiny hysteria - so adjustments needed to be made. He was about to find the right dosage and concoction for her.

The oppressive delusions that haunted her visions seemed to most often revolve around insects and decay. Yet, at other times it was nondescript figures, emptiness and general interference. Fear of death? Contamination? The unknown? Her fears were multiple and none of them seemed to surpass all. A perfect breeding ground for many a more horrors to inseminate. A perfect test subject to uncover a deep, secret, man-eating phobia unbeknownst to all.

At times Ada burst into horrid fits, screaming and violently thrashing, sometimes even managing to slip from his grip. It was a dramatic play of arms flinging and legs kicking in a heated struggle, where the girl nearly escaped, but was bruisingly slammed atop a trolley of the old factory machines. The monstrosities in her delusions must have been most hideous, when Scarecrow overwhelmed her, grinding and touching so feverishly her toes barely touched the floor while he banged her from behind like it was the only way he knew how.

One morning as Scarecrow was on about his business, he noted that something was off. Everything seemed to be in place, but there was something.. different. He checked the drawers, the papers, supplies, equipment, the test tubes.. Everything seemed to be in order, until he noticed the half-empty water glass he had left on his desk. He didn’t remember leaving it that far to the edge. He moved it closer with a pen and took a swab to run it across the rim. He put the swab in an analyzer hooked to his computer to run a test. Water, his DNA, chamomile and.. nitrazepam?

Furore condensed in him. That little minx was trying to drug him! But how? How had she managed to get out? He was sure he had locked the hall door at nights and every time he was away. Unless..

He hurriedly went to the door and inspected the lock. It wasn’t broken, nor were there any other obvious scratch marks. This one was the only door with a traditional lock. So Ada must have..

Her hair pins.

That crafty little nymph! He was so infuriated he nearly couldn’t contain himself. How could she still have a strand of courage in her to stand up against _him_? He silently opened the lock. Conveniently, he was also building an erection.

After entering the kitchen, Scarecrow burst through Ada’s bedroom door, making the girl wake up with a wince. “You.” he growled. Ada grew pale as an accusatory finger pointed at her. “You tried to drug me.”

Ada was cowering beneath her shabby blanket, trying to hide herself as though thinking it would have sufficed as an armor. “No!” she whimpered.

“Save it, girl! I know you dank my glass with your poisons!” he barked, approaching the bed.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Scarecrow threw away the blanket, revealing her nudeness, disgusted at the meaningless, generally overused words _I’m sorry_. “Apologies won’t cut it.” he said, tugging the girl by ankles, pulling her legs off the bed. He grabbed a fistful of her hair to guide her sitting up. She cried as he unbuckled his trousers. “Open up!”

Filling her mouth, he began pumping as he held her head with both hands, the girl clawing at his shirt. “You really thought you could get away with it? The insolence!” He took pleasure in the girl’s muffled cries and her small, warm mouth that tightened around his hard cock.

Ada was gagging, struggling with a fear of choking. He wouldn’t even need to use his toxins – terror had deep roots. “How many times do we need to go over this? There is no escape.” he told, referring the times when the girl’s misery had been contaminated with opportunism. She had sorely regretted her desperate actions, but had been chastised each time. This was the first time she had actually tried to envenom him. “Do that again and I will _eat_ you alive. I will _devour_ you, _spit_ you back out and utterly _destroy_ you!”

Ada cried, her pharynx vibrating at his cock as she retched, desperately pushing him, gasping for air.

He soon grew bored of her mouth and threw her up further on the bed and swiftly pulled out a scalpel from his pocket, extracting the blade from its sheath with a single flick of thumb. Pinning the girl down, he brought the knife at her face. He looked straight into her eyes, adoring the unfettered terror.

“Please.. don’t..!” Ada whispered, her voice quivering.

“You think I wouldn’t do it? As a man of science, I wouldn’t do something.. _this brute_?” He suddenly made a quick slash at her shoulder. It was only a light incision, but enough deep to induce a sting with trickling redness. Tears ran from Ada’s squinted eyes, but only a tender squeak escaped her lips as she brought her hands to her face. “That’s right, _Vitriol_.” Scarecrow spat. “You don’t. You cannot be sure, can you?”

She whimpered as he guided his cock through her slippery walls.

Scarecrow held her down by the wrists, banging her and giving her the meanest look. “You probably aren’t even sure about anything anymore right now. You can’t know what kind of pain I may inflict.” The copulation was slow and malevolent. “And you are afraid that there is nothing you can do. You have no power to even control yourself.”

Ada wailed silently, denying everything. Her sweet, sweet suffering made Scarecrow crave for more anguish upon her sweet, sweet distress. He fucked her hard, violently and rigorously, feeling every inch, every nook of her inner muscles. Her very soul was crushing oh so slowly. What an intoxicating shiver it sent right through him as he watched her writhe. All she did was stare at him. Her mind clearly shattering, questioning herself.

Scarecrow attacked her mouth to taste the fear upon her tongue as he lashed at it, sucking her dry, intentionally bewildering her. Reluctance and sickness surged through her. “I see you are confused. I can feel it.” he sighed at her. “I can taste it. I can hear it in your moans.”

“Stop it!” Ada breathed.

“Go on.” Scarecrow grunted, his grim eyes painting her with fear. Grinding fervently, frenzied, the musk of sex filling his lungs, the Doctor took in the abhor this girl exuded, drunk from pleasure. “Scream. No one can hear you here.” He kept thrusting deep, splitting her, forcing more tears out of her. “No one will ever find you here. I am the Master of Fear and Bringer of Nightmares. Your sweet, delectable fear and delicious pussy are mine!”

For a fraction of a second, he saw something flash in Ada’s eyes right before she suddenly lashed out, throwing him all off guard. Scarecrow flinched as she, with unexpected force, turned her arms, twisting his grip and lifted her hips. Grasping him forcefully, she threw him on his back with her full body. He howled, when teeth attacked his hand with fury, bludgeoning his grip of the knife. Ada hurriedly slapped the scalpel to the floor, but, much to Scarecrow’s confusion, she did not flee.

Addled, he watched her face distort into an ugly frown, when she pressed her hands against his, buckling her hips, grinding, driving his rod into her cavity savagely. This abrupt turning of tables raised his pulse into a nigh smothering beating, weighing down his chest. He nearly let out a small laughter. He was transfixed – amused, in fact. How could it be that _he_ was startled by _her_ , this girl now fucking him? Her eyes showed no compassion. He flicked his right hand and a cloud of fear gas sprayed from his mask.

For a mere second or two, Ada looked like she was about to sneeze, but she kept impaling herself with his cock, riding as though diseased. Her eyes were fixated to his, open wide, now all tears dried up. He released another cloud, but she merely shook her head. How could this be? “Ada?” he called to her through pleasure of her riding him. This was probably the first time he had actually called her by first name. Furthermore, the first time the girl was on top. “Vitriol?”

Through clenched teeth, she breathed in retaliation. It was quite a thrill to see her this unbridled it nearly gave Scarecrow chills. “No.” her tone was low. There was also something else, as if another voice echoed beneath. She grasped his chest harness and folded herself closer. “ _I am the Witch_.”

Pulling him to sit up, the Witch wound her arms about his neck and moaned deeply at the feel of the Scarecrow joining her rhythm. He breathed in her scent. The sight before him amazed the Doctor. The vehement gyrating of this girl, this woman, it brought a new sensation of exhilaration. She must have grown immunity to his toxins, but her twitching eyes indicated the contrary. How was she not cowering in fear anymore, how could she suddenly have recovered her mind, pulled the broken pieces of her back together?

Scarecrow brought a hand to her succulent rump as he leaned back to the other in ecstasy, enjoying the slippery reclining borne upon him. The rolling of the Witch’s perfect hips tantalized his senses, driving him closer to fulfillment. Losing himself to zeal he brought his face to her shoulder, gnawing and licking at her profusely bleeding wound in fervent lust. He felt furious hands cusp his head, turning his gaze up to see her.

The Witch only stared at him, grazed her lips upon his teeth, twitching and buckling like she was also nearing climax. The two breathed each other in uncontrollable heat, coiling like raging cats fighting for territory. The very moment Scarecrow felt her tighten around him with a frantic judder and a wanton groan escaping her lips, a powerful orgasm flushed over him like a tidal wave, shuddering him all over. He grasped her in his convulsions, burying deep inside her, her flesh tightening onto him, devouring him.

Breathing heavily, Scarecrow pressed his face into the nook of the Witch’s neck, recollecting himself, which did not prove to be as easy this time. He was exhausted in this maddening gratification. It was as though the woman had absorbed all his vitality. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was kind of glad it turned out this way, but he didn’t quite revere the fact this.. Witch defied him.

The Witch touched his face and brought his mangled lips to hers, not to kiss, but to have a light touch. Her small tongue slightly licked at him, as though to memorize his taste. And suddenly, she got up without a word and jumped off the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The Doctor was caught off-guard as she was already leaving. She had already disappeared through the door as he redid his pants and stood up to follow her. “Vitriol! Witch!” he called after her.

Her pace was haste and intent, when Scarecrow followed her to the hall. He was quite surprised that instead of heading to the door or to his work desk to collect items for her defense, she grasped fabrics of a few kinds and took a seat at an old Singer. The aura she emitted was of utter apathy. What happened to her? What had she seen?

“Witch.” he called again, carefully approaching.

“Bring me black hair dye, please.” she said, starting to paddle the antique sowing machine.

Scarecrow was dismayed by the request. Furrowing his brows, he couldn’t help of suspecting her. “But—“

“I’m not going anywhere. I have no interest in your effects.” her tone was monotonous, indifferent.

Scarecrow approached the Witch, watching her guide the fabrics through the machine. She didn’t pay him attention and it was actually quite unnerving. It was as though she had shed all her fears, all her anxiousness, and reborn into something vile. She didn’t even seem to be concerned of the fact she was still all nude.

She suddenly turned to him, ceasing the paddling. Her eyes seemed different. Piercing. Full of contempt. “Please, may I have black hair dye?”

Still suspicious, yet curiosity brewing in him, Scarecrow obliged and left the hall.

When he returned, he left the hair dye packet on the table, displeased of running an errand for her. Suspicious looks had darted at him for concealing his face at the nearby corner store.

Ada stood up with her newly sewn clothes in her lap. She took the packet and locked herself into the bathroom. Not a single word was exchanged. Assuming she wouldn’t be out for a while, Scarecrow paced for a short while, until he sat down at his desk. This was quite unexpected. How had she done it? How could she have possibly resisted his toxin?

He tapped a finger against the table-top impatiently, his mind riddled with questions regarding this metamorphosis. He kept glancing at the clock, waiting. He snorted and took a tape-recorder in hand after he made sure she hadn’t touched anything on his desk while he had been gone. He pushed the record button.

“The experiment has gone haywire. Subject exhibits tolerance towards fear toxin, to some extent at least. Which is quite peculiar, because the fear still seems to be there, but it now has a companion. Defiance? Confrontation? Maybe even acceptance? Her demeanor has also slightly changed from what it was before the start of the experiment. Seems as though she has gained some sort of.. insight. As though she has evolved. Her persona, Vitriol, is no longer. Vitriol is dead.”

Then, he heard light steps enter the hall and there she stood. Her hair was pitch black, messy and still wet. A black gauze cascaded from atop her head down to her shoulders. A shroud of lace in the shape of a domino mask was wrapped over her eyes, the lids smeared in black. Her delectable lips were also as black as the rest of her attire. Her three-quarter sleeves had a ragged trimming of lace and ribbons, her low neckline accentuated her ample cleavage and the hem of her dress cinched at her hourglass waist, linen and lace, all ruched and poofy. The hem reached just above her bony ankles. She seemed solemn in her new look, assertive.

“Now there is only the Witch.” He stopped recording. “You look.. different.” the Scarecrow stated as the Witch approached. “Quite.. _ravishing_ actually.” And, in all honesty, he meant it.

“Thank you, Doctor.” the Witch responded. “Where are my shoes?”

Scarecrow handed her the thick, high-heel platform ankle boots from under his desk. “So..” he began. “How do you feel?”

The Witch clad her feet and gained back her extra thirteen centimeters. “Like a new person.”

“How so?”

A small smile curled upon the Witch’s lips. “I’m not afraid anymore. Not at least in its traditional sense.”

Scarecrow gestured her to take a seat, but she shook her head. “What do you mean?” he asked, curiosity clouding his head.

“It’s turned into a thrill.”

Scarecrow furrowed his brows and slowly stood up. Utterly fascinated, he raised his hands, feeling a need to touch her, to feel if she was for real. “What did you see?” he spoke softly.

“Terror. I saw many a disgusting thing warp everything around me, including you, a decaying monster. I saw all the people that had lost their lives because of my medicine.” Those words lashed at Scarecrow’s brain. Never had she revealed of her ending another’s life, let alone multiple people. There still seemed to be much more to her than seemed.

“Then, all of a sudden..” She almost sounded delighted. “I felt like home.” She delicately touched his hands, guiding them away from her. “Suddenly, all the visions you raped my mind with didn’t seem so horrifying anymore. I was still afraid, but it didn’t affect me. I saw all the horrid illusion upon you melt away, and then there was only you as clear as you see yourself in the mirror.”

Astounding.

Scarecrow brought himself closer, looking down at her. Despite the platforms, she was still scrawny as ever. Delicate. How could such a small thing throw him off by impulse? “An enlightenment?”

“So to speak.” she murmured.

The Doctor brought a hand to her face, to brush her hair just a little. “So what now?”

She took his hand, seemed to enjoy his touch just for a second, before removing it. “I take my leave and you will never look for me. I am no longer your prisoner.”

Excruciating pain surprised him in an instant by attacking his face and right shin, knuckles shattering what was left of his nasal bones and the hard tip of a shoe digging into his leg. He toppled over by a punch right at his diaphragm, fell to his knees with all air knocked out of his lungs. His eyes were foggy, when the Witch kicked him over as he fought the pain and loss of breath. It felt as though his insides were curling, convulsing into a tiny ball, provoking vomit.

When he finally regained some breath, he barely noted Ada jumping over him like a fawn, running to the door. His stomach hurting, Scarecrow hissed as he cranked himself upright, questioning in his mind why, despite the vast space of the hall, had she felt the need to jump over him. He wiped his face, noting the blood that had gushed out of his nose. How displeasing.

He turned to the door, where the Witch had turned back to look at him, shaking her bloodied knuckles. Her handbag hung from her shoulder and she was reaching for the door handle. She had figured out the door was not locked from the inside and he was furious. “Leave now and you bet your sorry ass that everywhere you go you will fear even your own shadow. From that point beyond you will look over your shoulder, never knowing if I’m there. And when I find you, you will rue the nightmares. _You will suffer!_ ”

Silence lasted only a few seconds, during which the Witch stared right back at him, her eyes glinting. She lifted her chin and a faint smile appeared upon her dark lips. “We’ll see about that.” and she disappeared through the door, running.

And the Witch never stopped running. She was lost for quite a while, until she came across a roundabout and a grand statue of a morose man supporting the _Urbarail_. She ran all the way through Chinatown, never looking back and didn’t stop until she was at her door. Her hands shook as she dug out the key and forcefully tried to aim at the lock. “Come on!” she hissed and finally got through. Slamming the door shut, she hurriedly hooked the chain lock and collapsed on her knees, crying, nearly hyperventilating and pressing her forehead against the sealed door.

She had escaped. She had actually escaped. She let out a laughter amidst tears. She couldn’t believe her plan had worked. What the Scarecrow didn’t know was that she had been snooping around his hideout for a while before. Finding her handbag was quite easy. She knew he had hidden away her effects in the most convenient places the very moment he had given her the painkiller. From that night on, she made silent quests back and forth the main hall, never leaving anything anywhere they weren’t before. After pinpointing all her things Scarecrow had so rudely bogarted, Ada went on to concoct a special antidote of sorts.

Combining from chemicals she could find and what were hers, she had made a potion out of propranolol, caffeine and entheogens that prevented her from the sensation of fear and anxiety indefinitely. All she needed was an opportunity.

So, Ada had intentionally dapped the Doctor’s glass with a mixture that would surely not go unnoticed and moved the glass so there would be no way he would miss it. She had taken her own potion right at the most opportune moment and remained in her room, before Scarecrow would burst in. It ensured her foxy plan into perfection. Her antidote kicked in just at the right time, veiling its effect as emerging immunity towards fear toxin, tricking the Doctor into thinking she had overcome her nightmares.

When she finally had the perfect chance, when Scarecrow least expected, Ada attacked, collected her things and left with assert. And now she was here, the potion wearing off, making her feel more unsafe than ever. It was overwhelming like coldness biting right through the skin after heavy rain. There was no going back to normal life. She needed to get out of this house, needed to move away, making sure Doctor Jonathan Crane would not find her again.

Swallowing down the returning uneasiness and patting away her tiny tears, Ada stood up to rummage through her most prized possessions, pushing away the lingering sensation of peril. She knew of a small, old convenience shop in Grand Avenue on Miagani Island. It had been empty for years. It was in the back of a narrow alley, so it wasn’t popular for business, but it was perfect for her.

Fetching her toolbox of vials and satchel of chemistry tools, she passed the whole-body mirror in the living room and halted for a moment to look at herself. Ada sighed at the sight. She did seem different. Not only because of her new outfit and hair, but there was also something else. Something had changed. Deep inside. A change for the better no doubt. Becoming the Witch was inevitable. Bound to happen and she was happy. She felt stronger, more unyielding and unforgiving. Even though Scarecrow had terrorized her in the most horrific way, there was also a flip side: she was transformed into something greater than ever before.

Ada smiled at herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was supposed to be the last chapter, but ideas still kept pouring. Now, this is where everything starts to get serious - more intense and gloriously lecherous. 
> 
> Hope you have enjoyed so far, because there is more. A lot more!


	5. Disintegrator

Rosemary and cranberries for finishing touches to her drink and she mixed it all up with a stirrer adorned with chinking bat and spider ornaments dangling on a chain. The multitude of rings decorating her fingers clinked at the glass as she took a long sip of her _Napue_ _Gin and Tonic_. Ada smiled as she viewed her premises. _Rose Hall_ was relatively prolific. She barely came by with occasional drug-sell here and there, but the online shop was her main profit.

Ada was quite satisfied with her life. Business was moderate, she lead a quiet, peaceful life, not too much excitement. Supplying recreational drugs to mobs was the only suspenseful action she may have done, but even that was mere transaction. Extra pocket money to spend on lovely interior.

A delicate meow greeted her. Ada smiled at the graceful black cat that peeked her beautiful, angular and big-eared head beneath the dark drapes that hung over the walls. “Hello, Lady Van Tassel.” she greeted the feline and dug out some cat treats from her utility belt. The cat scuttled to her to retrieve a reward for keeping pests at bay. Lady van Tassel was not a pet, only a dear ally. Ada provided a warm place to stay while van Tassel hunted down rodents, occasionally bringing gifts in form of dead rats.

Ada gave an affectionate headbutt before the cat scurried to the open window, through which she disappeared. Yes, Ada had her life fixed. It might not be the perfect life, not the “American dream”, but it was hers and she was happy. Completely content. She was able to brew her potions and people were even willing to buy them. It was almost puzzling, but she was pleased.

Ada took another sip of her drink and returned to the fireplace (a rare piece of furniture in a big city nowadays) to stir the concoction in the cast iron cauldron. Another batch was brewing for her popular peeling mask. _Rose Hall Remedies._

Three knocks fell upon her door. Ada was quite displeased. “The sign says we’re not open. Please, come back tomorrow.” she told loudly, yet sighed at the sound of opening door and chiming bells. She drank again and kept stirring. Why couldn’t people read and heed the words? This wasn’t the first time, but fortunately it wasn’t like a customer would wander into her store every day. After all, Rose Hall was mainly an online shop. This was only the storage facility interconnected with her apartment.

“Look, it’s getting late and I have lots of batches to finish, but if you are here to retrieve your order, I’m glad to find it for you, but otherwise, please come back tomorrow.”

“You won’t stay open even for me?”

Ada felt as though all her life force was drained out of her, sucked out by the vampiric voice at her door. Her insides went cold and her fingertips were tingling. She knew this day would come eventually, but she never expected it to arrive so soon. All the time in this world wasn’t enough for her to prepare.

Ada picked up a decorative poker to calm the flames and closed the cauldron lid before serenely turning to the door, twisting the sweetest and most plausible smile upon her face that she could possibly muster. And there he was, Doctor Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, in his full morbid glory, tall and slim body towering at the doorstep, menacing as ever. He hadn’t changed at all, still wearing the trench coat, all those canisters fastened about his waist, the contraptions on his right arm and left leg.. And that face.. That face uneasy to the eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“So no _hello_ then? That’s not quite the greeting I expected.” Scarecrow teased and it was already maddening Ada.

She sighed and drank. The smile faded the very instant. “Hello, Dr. Crane. What are you doing here?” Straight to the point. She was not in the mood for pleasantries.

She felt goosebumps tingling upon her skin, when Scarecrow stepped forth, glancing the dusky interior, the shelves crammed with jars and vials and neat little boxes, the tapestries of occult weaving and old heavy furniture from decades ago. “It’s a nice place you have here.” he stated, approaching one of the shelves. He picked up a flip-top bottle to examine its label. _Henbane oil_. “Are you running a business?”

“Since health and naturalness is all the rage my compounds are viewed trendy in certain groups.”

Scarecrow put the bottle back on the shelf. “How quaint.” He turned to her, sending chills down her entirety. There was no room for faltering – Ada needed to remain collected. The beast could smell hesitation. “No more Arkham then?”

Ada hated small talk and she bet Dr. Crane wasn’t fond of it either. So why bother? Just to get on her nerves? “That’s quite enough.” she said, raising a hand, knowing there was no getting rid of him with heavy measures – the outcome of such measures seemed infertile. She had to play along once more. “I know you won’t leave me be, so make yourself comfortable. Please, have a seat.” she continued and gestured a dark, embossed, velvet couch in the middle of the room at a round, low table clothed with a nubby, woven spread. “Would you like something to drink?”

The Doctor seated himself. “Why, thank you! A spot of tea would be much obliged, so long it’s not _poisonous_.”

Wrinkling her nose, tired of the needling, Ada left her nearly empty glass on the fireplace’s mantle and turned to one of the shelves to pick up a tin can neatly seated in a row with others. “I assure you, there are nothing deadly in these shelves.” After taking a quick glance at the label, she opened the can and handed it to Scarecrow. “This one is a mix of sencha, thistle pedals and cloudberry.”

Scarecrow took a deep inhale of the tea presented to him. “Exotic scent. You made it?” he stated and gave the tin back.

Ada nearly jolted as their fingertips slightly touched, sending a tiny spark through her nervous system. “Yes.” she answered, striving to the most neutral tone. “It’s actually quite popular.”

“Sounds delightful.” Scarecrow nodded and Ada quickly left to the kitchen area to prepare the tea. “So, how long has it been? A few months?”

“More or less. I have been busy with other things than counting time.” She wasn’t even trying to sound enthusiastic anymore as she switched on the water boiler.

“You make it sound like there’s no part of you that reminisces _some_ aspects of our sessions.” There was a smirk in his tone.

Ada nearly gagged at the thought that he was partially right. It was a troubling and horrifying thought that the sex had been indubitably great, but the overall experience.. not that great. She decided not to reply as she scooped tealeaves into the French press.

“Nevertheless, I’m still not fully satisfied with the research. It’s.. _unfinished_.”

That last word made Ada jump for the fact that it suddenly sounded like Scarecrow had whispered right into her ear. She didn’t dare to move, not even glance behind her. Just waited for the water to boil. She felt ready to cry out of detestation, out of fear that Scarecrow still had such power over her, but she swallowed it down, eyeing the salvia tincture in the spice rack. No, she shouldn’t. There was a direct line of sight from where the Doctor sat – her actions wouldn’t go unnoticed. Instead, Ada only poured the boiling water into the press. “I’m sorry to hear that.” was all she could think of to say.

“Don’t be. We both know you really don’t mean it.”

Ada remembered all too well the distress that Scarecrow laid upon her. She wasn’t sorry that his experiment was incomplete, but at the same time she wished it was, so at least her torment would have come to conclusion. If only there was a way she was able to slip hallucinogens into his drink so he would taste his own medicine. And when he was a sloppy mess she would be able to ditch him into the sewers with relative ease.

Ada weighed down the plunger, pressing down leaves. “Do you take anything with your tea?”

“No, thank you.”

After pouring the tea into an ornate, cast iron pot, she assembled a tray to finally return to the parlor, avoiding Scarecrow’s gaze in fear she might falter and drop the tray, destroying her lovely tea set. “Now, will you please tell me why have you granted me with the _pleasure_ of your visit?” Ada said as she poured the hot beverage into a royal blue, silver rimmed porcelain cup and passed it over to Scarecrow with a matching saucer.

“I have come to negotiate about a collaboration.”

Blinking and furrowing her brows, Ada slowly turned to the Scarecrow, who crossed his legs and drank of his tea. “Excuse me?” She must have heard him wrong, the whole sentence sounded so appalling she wasn’t even sure how to react.

“A liaison of sorts. You see..” Scarecrow dug out a small vial from his breast pocket and placed it on the table. It was one of Ada’s potions. One for narcotizing. “When you left so abruptly you forgot this. I took the liberty of examining the compound and it was quite fascinating. Also, the other so called _medicine_ you had with you. Impressive work.” he took another sip. “This tea is delightful.” he stated in passing.

Ada was curious of how tedious it was to drink through that stitching and with the lack of proper lips, before she drank from her own cup. “So.. Are you implying that you want me to become your henchwoman?” Working for Scarecrow sounded like a hazardous idea.

“Henchwoman sounds a little degrading, don’t you think?” There was that smirk again. “No, it would be an affiliation. You are free to go on about your days as you please. All I request is assistance in perfecting my fear toxin.”

“I’m.. honored?” The audible question mark was intentional.

“You might as well. Not many have had the opportunity to contribute to my work.” The Doctor finished his tea. “Exquisite. May I have more?”

Despite the suspicious pleasantries, Ada poured tea into each cup. Despite the whole meeting stinking to high Hell, Ada sat back and sighed wistfully. “The Riddler approached me with similar proposal almost a year ago.” she said with a faint smile.

“Oh?” Somehow his tone sounded to feign surprise.

Ada didn’t lift her gaze from her cup. “My answer was no and so it is now. It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not a criminal like you. Sure I’ve nicked stuff from time to time and sold drugs, but..” Then finally, her eyes met the Scarecrow’s, conveying seriousness and countering – she was not yielding to fear. “I’m not a villain.”

It was silent for a moment. Only a lonely grandfather clock ticked and tocked. Eventually, the Doctor lowered his chin, his intense gaze shadowed by his brows. “Think about it.” He passed on an insisting regard.

“What’s in it for me?”

“You have all my facilities, equipment and components in free usage. You may also conduct your own mixtures. And of course you shall be paid for your efforts.” was the Scarecrow’s appropriate answer. After a swig of tea, a sinister grin curled upon what was left of his lips. It was as though the surrounding air turned cold and eerie, and Ada suddenly had a feeling she had opened a door to a demon. “And naturally, there is also that incomplete experiment.” His voice was sonorous, nigh sensuous, Ada had nearly forgotten how compelling it was.

Clenching her teeth, Ada fought the desire to helplessly surrender, just to get over this all. There was also an urge to leap over the table and scratch out those hypnotically hazy eyes that froze everything they gazed upon. The appetite to give in to his voice and let him overwhelm her with persecuting touches was equally strong with tightening the hangman’s noose around his neck to strangle him. It was a labyrinthine feeling. Almost bittersweet.

“So what do you say, Witch?” Oh, the seduction! And the knowledge that it would all be nought but horror.

Ada swallowed as sedate as possible, knowing if she manifested any signs of shun the Doctor would take notice of it and use it against her. “I’ll think about it.” she spoke under her breath, somberly, seeing no other way out.

“Splendid.” Scarecrow finished his tea and placed his cup on the table. He also laid a business card before her. Ada snorted in her mind at the dull, hay colored cardboard with an orange jack-o’-lantern face. How corny, she thought. “I won’t keep you from work for tonight. Thank you for the tea.” he said standing up.

Ada also stood, leading the Doctor to the door. “You’re welcome.” She hurriedly strode to the door, wanting this meeting to finally end. “Good night then.” She yearned to scream the very moment she felt a cold, ashen touch on her hand as she grasped the door handle.

“One more thing.” Scarecrow spoke, removing Ada’s hand from the handle, serenely bringing it down and inching closer to her.

Ada winced in her mind as a light touch grazed her jawbone, exhorting her to look up. Her eyes met his. He was looking for something, just like the day he had invaded her previous apartment. There was that same stark stare that bore a hole into her very being. “When you left my facilities..”

Ada returned the stern gaze, her breath shallow and timid. She would not break.

“You leaped over me. There was more than enough room for you to go around, but you leaped over me. Why?”

Now it was Ada’s turn to smirk. “It’s called _harakointi_.”

A question mark was visible across Scarecrow’s face.

“I cast a curse upon you by the power of my vagina.”

“A curse?” he let out a laugh at the silliness of her words as he slightly moved her embroidered veil from her temple.

“It’s an old Finnish custom to either cast a curse or to give protection against evil.”

Scarecrow studied her face intently, brushing stray hair that framed Ada’s face. Ada prepared herself for countering any sudden move, letting the Doctor touch her just this once. “Do you consider me evil?” he breathed, now bringing his left hand to her neck.

“What you did to me was evil.” her voice exuded a warning.

Ada suddenly grew afraid if the Scarecrow could hear her raising heartbeat that nearly hurt her chest as he brought his face closer – that horridly mauled face. She could feel him breathing her scent, her earthy fragrance of cedar, tobacco and patchouli. “Perhaps.” he finally whispered and Ada felt herself become hot. It was as though she was on fire from the waist down no matter how desperately she denied the growing kindling.

And that’s when she realized: she had been conditioned to become aroused by his mere voice. Weither deliberate or a “happy accident”, Ada knew she would be screwed eventually, in the word’s both meanings. She didn’t need to be a psychic to know that. “You should go now.” she said quietly, squeezing her fingers into fists.

Taking notice of that, the Doctor chuckled and withdrew. “As you wish.” He opened the door and took one last glance at her. “You look enchanting, by the way.”

A blush burned Ada’s cheeks and she nodded.

“Good night, Witch.”

“You too.” She closed the door gently behind him and remained there to press an ear against the wooden surface. When she no longer heard footsteps she hurriedly locked the door tightly and held her chest. Her heart nearly ached by the rapid pulse. She grunted, holding back tears of stress.

It all dawned to her. She was never safe. The Scarecrow told her so the day she escaped and now he had found her. She could keep running, but what good was it to her if he would eventually hunt her down? What other choice did she have other than offer herself to the devil that wore his face? Despite this, a deep, dark side of her was excited, heated, nigh incapable of controlling the carnal urge. The temptation was vast, but so was the dread of pain and horrid delusions – of losing herself.

She was quite interested in getting her hands on Scarecrow’s equipment though. She was behind her bills so extra money would be appreciated. But what was the cost of giving up her hands in aiding the Doctor? What sickly forays awaited her along with rewards for her troubles? Ada was stuck. There was not much she could do to forestall all this. She knew negotiating about him not laying a finger on her would be out of the question. She knew he wouldn’t promise anything when it came to his “science” and there was a strong possibility of loopholes and attached strings.

The Witch found herself desolate and inept. She was utterly alone.

 

 

“Crane!” the voice roaring from the doorway sounded familiar and angry. Doctor Jonathan Crane turned in his office chair to see an equally tall and lanky man stomping to his way, face all dour and hands in tight fists. He seemed upset and Dr. Crane could guess why.

He stood up. “Hello, Mr. Nigma. What brings you here?” he asked politely.

Edward was now in front of him, in full get-up, glaring at him murderously. There was a distinct indignation about him, like a cranky child from whom his favorite toy had been stolen. “You know very well what.” The man was pointing at him. “I know what you did to Geier.” Edward hissed.

“Ada Geier? I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“Save it, bird perch! It was _your_ handprint all over her in Arkham!” the Riddler growled, swaying ever so slightly in a figure eight.

Dr. Crane batted his eyes and shook his head a little, wanting to cough. Edward’s breath reeked of liquor. “And that makes you angry why exactly?”

“She was _my_ project! _Mine!_ Do you have any idea how long it took me to _mold_ her? I was _this_ close to bringing that bitch to her knees again!”

So it was true. The Riddler had kept Ada captive. Scarecrow had thought it was just another egotistical display of dominion by Edward Nigma, the obsessive-compulsive, manic Riddler, who seemed too upset to produce his usual complex and reference-rich sentences. The Doctor wondered if Ada’s demeanor would be different if she had never met Nigma in the first place. Would she have had that naivety and esprit of a young woman without Riddler’s corruption? Would she have ever enrolled in Arkham Asylum, thus never meeting him, the Scarecrow?

“Yes, I heard you tried to _convince_ her to become your hench-wench. But riddle me this: which upsets you the most? If it wasn’t for me, there might have been a chance for you to _bend_ her over? Or the fact that I have much more power over her than you ever even dreamed of?”

Edward’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do to her?”

“It doesn’t matter what I did. What matters is that you are indignant about her alignment into _my_ direction. Can you tell me why this turn of events upsets you so?”

The Riddler frowned. “Because she was my last pet project. To take revenge. Then you came along and ruined everything.”

Something dawned to Dr. Crane. There was something more than just the compulsory need for vengeance, for closure. Ada certainly had struck a nerve whatever the two might have had (obviously a sexual relationship of sorts), but there was something more why the Riddler was lashing out. Oh dear.. “Mr. Nigma, is it possible that you, in fact, feel affection for her?”

The Riddler’s eyes flashed. “Preposterous!” he roared with a slur. “I have a bone to pick with that bitch. That whore needs to pay! If you hadn’t meddled, I could’ve had an opportunity strike right where it hurts! Now Vitriol is nothing but a mindless ghoul and it’s entirely your fault! You took the fun out of it!”

“Vitriol?” Scarecrow nearly laughed, but managed to contain himself. “You don’t know? Vitriol is dead.”

“What?”

“There is no Vitriol anymore. There is only the Witch.”

Edward seemed flabbergasted. Oh, good grief, he actually had no idea! Crane laughed internally. He had been sure that the Riddler of all people would’ve known by now! “What did you do to her?”

The Doctor enjoyed this moment. The moment before he would crush this man with his words, the impetuosity in Edward’s eyes, so very grievously masking insecurity. Where he, the Scarecrow, had conquered his demons, this man before him still feared. Feared of losing control, denied of attention. This was going to hurt.

“What did I do to her?” The Doctor could no longer restrain himself from laughter. “I took her. I took her every which way and made her _beg_ for her dear life, made her scream from both physical _and_ mental agony.” He stepped closer, slightly bowing and gesturing himself in a theatrical manner. “I performed most satisfying experiments on her while she moaned like a cat in heat. I broke her soul. She trembled in fear as I _fucked_ her hot pussy over and over again! And you know what else? She _loved_ it!”

“Motherfucker!” Suddenly a fist flung at Scarecrow, who responded with relative ease by swatting it away, also warding off the future strikes. The Riddler kept throwing punches, even though it was quite futile with all the profanities he spat out. Scarecrow gave a harsh punch right across Riddler’s face sending him to the floor. Riddler tumbled awkwardly, his head spinning and his overall movement straggly.

“You may have broken her first, but it was I who twisted the knife further.” Scarecrow spoke. “She fell into pieces, but those pieces were only a shell. She emerged and became much more. You may have subdued Vitriol, but I _murdered_ her. And from that corpse you once knew the Witch was born. It was.. inevitable.”

Edward turned to him, not bothering to get up from the floor, obviously too embarrassed of his state and not wanting to show how drunk he actually was. That poor megalomaniac.

“It was bound to happen. You may have trained her well, but it’s over now. She is no longer yours.”

At last, Edward cranked himself up. Instead of attacking, there was a sigh. “I know. I just..” Whatever it was, it seemed unbearably difficult for Edward to let go. Whether it was for actually developing feelings for Ada or pure desire for conclusion, the woman was an obsession. It needed to stop.

“Forget her. You’ve had your retribution. Her bewitching lady bits are mine.” Scarecrow couldn’t help himself from sprinkling salt into the Riddler’s wounds.

Edward frowned, clenching his teeth as though he was about to strike again.

“Go home, Riddler. You’re drunk. Don’t make me use my toxin. Leave and never come back for her.” And with that, he had marked the Witch as his territory, forever out of reach to anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this is one of the very, very few chapters without sex!
> 
> So, how has it been so far?


	6. The Pyre

A week had passed and the Witch had decided. She had called the Scarecrow, assenting his proposal. The Doctor sounded delighted in the phone whereas she became sullen. She felt dirty. Stained. It was as though she had dabbed with dark forces, summoned the devil without realizing she had doomed herself and sold her soul (or what was left of it).

Scarecrow had told her to meet him at his place. Back at the abandoned upholstery in The Cauldron. She remembered the place all too well.

The Witch took a deep breath as she stood before the door. She gently knocked it and crossed her hands neatly at her waist, solemnly, like an expectant sacrifice waiting to be devoured. It was as though her heart had momentarily stopped beating and she felt incredibly cold, when the door opened. Scarecrow greeted her with a smile, delighted at the somber sight of her. “ _’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; — This it is and nothing more_.”

The Witch blinked, her brows wrinkling ever so slightly at the greeting. It was quite fitting, but she still hadn’t expected a quotation from _The Raven_.

“Welcome back, Witch.” His voice was as husky and vibrant as ever. He moved aside to let her in. “I’ve been expecting you.”

The Witch entered ceremonially, proudly wearing her gown perfect for a funeral. She walked into the middle of the hall, which was now appropriately lighted, neat and tidy. No more hay all over the floor. There were new, bigger computer screens and new lab equipment. Also, another chair with the newly arranged work desks. Arranged for two. “I see you have improved the place.” The hall seemed much smaller than she remembered.

She slightly flinched as a hand crept upon her shoulders, beckoning her to remove her black, wool jacket. She let the Scarecrow take her jacket, but never turned to see him. “All for our future coaction.” Scarecrow said, hanging her outwear on a nearby rack. “You should also know that there are no closed doors this time.”

The Witch shivered at his presence lingering behind her. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Right now, I only want you to familiarize yourself with your new working space. Go ahead. Have a look.” he urged.

The Witch approached the desks, studying the contents. For the first time the tabletops seemed neat. No papers or notebooks all over the surface. Only essential chemistry sets, burners and two computers. One of them was open and running. There was live footage of the hall from different camera angles. The security cameras all over this place were new and she could guess why. Crane wouldn’t let her go on about this place without noticing this time.

“And over here,” Scarecrow gestured at the glass-door cabinets at the opposite wall to the desks. The Witch came to him as he opened one of the doors. “are all the components. Feel free to use any of them.” There were all sorts of hallucinogens and psychoactive substances, even euphoriants. The Witch’s mind started to buzz about all the possibilities what to create from all of this.

“ _But_.” The Doctor suddenly closed the cabinet. “I will supervise everything. We don’t want to repeat that earlier near-poisoning incident, now do we?”

The Witch slowly shook her head. “We don’t.” Though saying this, she promised nothing.

“Good.” Scarecrow approached her, bringing a hand under his chin thoughtfully. The Witch’s heart was racing as he ate at her with his gaze. “So, how did you do it?” he finally asked.

“Did what?” The Witch couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her voice.

“Your metamorphosis. It was such a sudden burst it couldn’t have been just a spontaneous immunity to my fear toxin.”

The Witch suddenly felt very weak as Crane brought himself closer. She stepped back out of natural instinct against her brain screaming at her not to do so, not to reveal how scared she was. And at that very instant she saw his face light up, his eyes glowing with revelation.

Licking the upper row of his teeth and raising his chin, he spread his arms to his sides, cognition empowering him. “Or was it another one of your concoctions on that night of _transformation_?”

Her heart sunk and she knew she was going to receive so much hurt by this affair. She inched backwards and jumped, when Scarecrow suddenly raged: “Answer me!” with a dire expression deforming his features further.

“Yes.” she whispered as the Doctor kept closing in on her.

“What was it?”

The Witch swallowed hard, tensing as he brought his hands to her shoulders, enshadowing her. “Propranolol, entheogen and betablockers.” She couldn’t look at him, but was forced to by a light touch at her chin.

“So there was no true, permanent change.” Scarecrow crooned, sounding absolutely satisfied by the fact that, though matured and gained a little strength, she was still as vulnerable as ever. She could see it in his lustful eyes. An arm wound behind her back as the other hand brushed her hair. “It was all a hoax. A convincing ruse.” The hand wandered to her neck, furtively grazed her right breast and lowered to her hips. “And yet you are here at your own will.”

The Witch brought her hands to his arms, inhaling sharply as his fingers travelled behind the high slit of her _Kitty Foyle_ dress right down to her sex, dismayed as Scarecrow scoffed. She knew he was thoroughly satisfied of her soaking slit and the lack of underwear. He teased at her pussy, breathing in her scent of abhor. “Either you naively thought I wouldn’t find out your secret..” A finger entered her, forcing out an agonized whimper. “Or you take so much pleasure from our sessions you cannot contain yourself.”

He kept teasing her, the Witch sensed elation in him as his teeth lightly grazed her forehead. She felt suffocating and she tightened her grip of the Doctor’s sleeves. All the past torment this man had induced came flooding back.

“You pine for losing control. You fear it, but it is the only way you feel alive. You _love_ to be scared.”

“You’re wrong.” the Witch whispered, her legs buckling slightly each time Scarecrow’s finger slipped over her clit. “You’re suggesting me into believing I revel in your terrors. You’re _deranged_!”

The compelling hand suddenly enveloped her whole womanhood with a sordid grasp, making the Witch cringe. “Then why did you come here?” Scarecrow’s voice rasped against her ear. “It can’t be just monetary gain and access to my equipment.” A short, barely audible gasp. “Or perhaps it is.” His crooning sent shivers deep into the Witch’s core. Scarecrow parted ever so slightly, locking eyes with her as he slowly went down, crouching. “Could it be that it is you, who presents her body as a sacrificial offering in exchange for profit?” he smirked, gathering the long, split hem of the Witch’s funeral dress, unveiling her sex to assault it with his lecherous tongue.

The Witch gasped and her body jigged at the slick oral pursuit delivered upon her, while a rough hand grasped her right buttock to hold her still. A moan escaped from her lips as she clawed at the dark brown hood that hid Scarecrow’s face. A throaty grunt vibrated at her slit, the lusty mouth eating her so hell-bent she felt like drowning. Two fingers plunged through her entrance to hunt her arousal, curving and rubbing against her G-spot. “Fuck!” she yelped, now utterly afraid of provoking the Doctor into horrendous acts.

He turned to look up at her, his whole mouth area glistening with saliva and her lubricants, transpiring a sharp gaze with his icy eyes. An atrocious grimace was barely visible through his mask. “There is no reason to fight it, pumpkin.” he announced, keeping his fingers busy like a gravedigger, never denying her jewel attention with the stroking of his thumb. “I shall accept your flesh as a proper offering. I will have your bewitching _cunt_ and baptize you in this altar of fear!”

And then, Scarecrow stood and tossed the distraught Witch upon the old, familiar chaise lounge, towering above her, astride the chair as she flinched in pure shock. She remained completely still, tightly against the chair, when he revealed a knife, also too familiar, in his ceremonial hand. The Witch whimpered at the sight of it, expecting pain and blood.

“Remember this?” Scarecrow beckoned with the scalpel as though conducting a symphony. The Witch nodded. “Good. Now be a good dear and unbutton your dress for me.”

Unwillingly, the Witch did as she was told, unfastening the white buttons that ran all the way from the white collar down to her waist. She cursed in her mind at the shaking of her hands while Scarecrow watched her, fixated. The gaze he cast made her feel filthy. Her only hope was that the Doctor would be quick about it and let her get over this nightmare, this psychological torture that, worst case scenario, would become a physical one. The Witch opened her dress slightly to reveal her lacey bra, hoping it would be to Scarecrow’s liking.

“Now remove it.” was the next command and the Witch obeyed. She squirmed out of the dress, the soft fabric falling on the floor in a wrinkled heap. Her arms strove to cover her body as the Doctor drowned her with his eyes, especially fascinated of the suspender belt holding up her black stockings, neatly framing her upper thighs and bare private parts. Indeed she had been prepared for the possibility of a sexual encounter, but not the scenario where he had read her cards, revealing her fabrication about immunity. “Also the brassiere.”

The Witch let out a small breath of reluctance as she reached behind her back to tumble at the hooks.

“Tell me, have you ever chopped carrots?” Scarecrow asked as he leaned closer, while the Witch fought with her lingerie.

A tiny nod. It was clear she found it a peculiar question.

“Cutting off fingers is just as easy.”

The Witch hurriedly removed her bra, the hint sinking into her loud and clear.

Scarecrow approached, reaching for her face to pet it, bringing the dull edge of the scalpel at her left breast, drawing curvy lines and provoking the fear of hurt. The Witch trembled, not daring to avert her eyes. Not seeing where the blade went unnerved her.

“Nerve wrecking, isn’t it?” the Doctor spoke, chinking the steel against the Witch’s nipple ring. “Not knowing what’s coming next. Will it be pain? Will it be utter pleasure? Or something much more horrifying?”

“Please, stop..!” the Witch sighed, not quite sure what to do with her hands. She wanted to throw a punch, but her body wouldn’t listen to her.

Scarecrow took a seat twixt her legs, drawing a hand across her, all the way to her waist, which seemed to thin even more as she inhaled. “But the ceremony is only starting! Now hold still, pumpkin, or there will be scars.”

Her fingers dug into her hair and she screamed out at the sight of the blade coming to her lower waist, Scarecrow holding her down by the stomach. “No! Please, no! Don’t do it!” the Witch cried as though immolated. “I beg you! I’ll do anything you want!”

“Hush now, pumpkin. The slightest falter may result in piercing you.”

The Witch closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands as she remained as still as she possibly could. Then, a quick, light incision was made just above her pubic bone. It was not the slash that particularly hurt but the air that bit at the open wound. The Witch smothered her cries as another slash drew blood and she almost jolted. She couldn’t bare to not see what was happening down there, but watching was almost as horrifying. She looked through tears at the Scarecrow drawing red lines upon her skin with strokes like a painter.

The Doctor was finished much more quickly than the Witch expected, but it wasn’t enough for her to sigh of relief. He flicked the blade into the handle and slipped it back into his breast pocket, admiring his artwork for a moment.

“Please..” the Witch whispered. “Just get it over with!”

A grimace. “But that would take all the _anticipation_ out of it.” He drew himself closer and somehow seemed much more intimidating than before as he brought his hands about her neck, not to strangle but to dig his fingers into her hair at the back of her head. He suddenly buckled his hips to bump his fully clothed crotch against her nude, making the Witch gasp at the feel of dark brown leather over her labia. “It’s not called _foreplay_ for nothing.”

Another hump and the Witch felt mortified. Seduction peered its head in her core and enticed her libido. She knew (and felt) the strengthening hard-on lurking behind the fly, just waiting to attack. The worst part was that the vigorous humping made her actually want and need him to be inside of her, and she hated herself for that.

“I see you struggle internally.” Scarecrow spoke with his velvety voice, bringing a hand to the Witch’s left breast, kneading it, playing with the silvery ring. “All in good time, dear pumpkin. We have all the time in the world to know what makes you scream.” He pinched her nipple, gently tugging at the jewelry. “The journey is just as exciting as the destination.” he breathed upon her. “Or is there something on your mind? Something bothering you? You can tell me – doctor-patient confidentiality.”

The Witch’s legs curled at his and she clutched his harness with her numb fingers. “No.” she whimpered, closing her eyes. Of course, she was lying.

“Are you sure?” The Witch startled as he swiftly undid his button and fly and took out his member to press it against her. She wrothe by the slick enthrall of his knob at her doorway, parting the curtains, but never entering. This was torture. “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with this?”

The Witch bit her lip, knowing if she wouldn’t play along more pain would be assured. The needles at her face were convincing. “Y-yes..!” she managed to sputter.

“Yes what?” The teasing was driving the Witch insane.

“I want you inside me. Please, anything but pain!” Pain wasn’t a thing she could handle right now. Her skin felt unnaturally brittle and her flesh tender.

But the slithering continued. Scarecrow didn’t utter a word. Just.. rubbed his cock against her labia and it frustrated and scared her at the same time. Either he was tormenting her on purpose or he was plotting something wicked. The Witch finally cried: “Fuck you, you sick maniac! You’re not a doctor, you’re just a psychotic asshole!”

The Witch immediately regretted her words and shrieked at the cold distress that punctured her left thigh, when the Scarecrow drove needles into her flesh. A sensation of unease and peril filled her, complicating her breath and hastening her pulse. In an instant, the Scarecrow had thrust himself deep within the Witch it hurt her insides. He also grasped her by the chin, a foul look in his eyes. “Tread wisely, pumpkin, or I’ll fashion you into a human pincushion.” Manhandling the Witch, he penetrated her in unrestrained zeal. “And I assure you the pins will stick to the bone.”

She threw her head back, crying out as she coiled, clawing at Scarecrow’s jacket and her knees bending upwards. Her toes curled in her heavy platform heels as the Doctor pounded away, igniting a sense of dread that she was going to split, bones crushing. “I am in complete control.” he growled, chasing awe. “No one is going to save you.”

The Witch’s heart shrunk and she was filled with despair. The piercing blue, misty eyes bore a hole through her head. No matter how long and how many times she had socialized with the Scarecrow, his face yet haunted her even if she closed her eyes.

The Witch gasped as she was suddenly lifted up and thrown atop the working desk savagely, the genital connection never breaking. A dark, menacing look made her shudder as the Doctor took the folds of her knees in a tight, nigh puncturing grasp, stretching her thighs to insinuate a perfect, tantalizing angle for penetration. Through the insanely demonic gaze that never broke eye contact, immense delight was also evident, no doubt because of the Witch’s fervent fright. She cried in a mix of pleasure and horror. Scarecrow was not a man – he was a sadistic monster. Wolf in professor’s clothing. Devil wearing leather and burlap. “Soon no one will even remember you ever existed.”

“Please, stop!” the Witch begged him, reaching for his chest.

But the Scarecrow took her right hand and guided it down to her sex. “Do it.” he said in a rumbling tone. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come.”

When she brought her fingers to her hot, slippery womanhood she cringed at the lewd sight of Scarecrow watching her as he fucked her, stretching his jaws and tilting his head like her pleasuring was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. The Witch could feel the approaching plateau phase as she made circular moves over her sweet spot with her fingers, the beguiling, hasty thrusting inveigling ecstasy. “Yes..” he sighed obscenely. “I want you to come all over me. Make your pussy swallow my cock whole!”

The Witch’s insides convulsed and she was ravaged by an orgasm that made her whole body twist nearly into a corckscrew, Scarecrow’s nails digging into her skin. Through hazy eyes she saw him frown in pleasure at her contorting, pulsating cavity that clamped tightly around him, wolfing him down as she shuddered in pleasure. And soon the Scarecrow also fell into climax, unravelling, discharging within her abyss, filing her, plunging all the way in. He snapped his head backwards, breathing just as heavily as the Witch, who trembled from orgasmic aftermath and anxiety as though waking up from a nightmare.

She felt vulnerable, defiled and exploited, undoubtedly the way the Doctor prescribed. She flinched as a hand grazed her chest, making its way to her stomach, stopping just above the cut wounds. It was not as affectionate gesture as one might think – rather a reinforcement of his dominance. “Still as tight as ever.” It was a statement, which seemed as though he meant to demean her. “Well then.” He suddenly pulled out and disappeared from the Witch’s sight. “Go clean yourself, we have much work to do.”

The Witch was shocked. He really expected her to work _now_? She shouldn’t be surprised, but she found the bidding offensive. When she finally sat up to her weak arms, her mind was slowly recollecting. Scarecrow had returned to his seat by the computer right by her side. He did not pay her attention while typing.

The Witch hopped off the table. Her legs nearly gave out, but she hurriedly scuttled to fetch her clothes on her way to the bathroom. When she locked the door, she spent seven minutes crying silently until she realized how stupid she was acting. The light dosage of toxin finally dissipating, she cleaned herself and dabbed disinfectant on the incisions at her lower stomach. Not until now she could make out what it represented. It was an outline drawing of a jack-o’-lantern face – his mark. She disapproved it, fake laughing in her head at the atrocity and dressed up, checked her make-up and returned to the main hall.

The Doctor was at his computer. The Witch felt quite unreal. It was too casual after such an intense, intimate and infernal stint. Would this be how it will be from now on? Violent and beastly hanky-panky and then it’s back to work? It overwrought her to think that fear was virtually the only displeasing part – that even the obtrusive, overpowering sexual advancing wasn’t the worst part. She sighed and approached the desk. “May I have the formulas for your toxins?” she asked.

Scarecrow pulled out a bundle of printed papers from a drawer and handed it to her.

She eyed the listed components and paradigms. She was impressed by the complexity. No wonder he was so proud of his work. It would prove difficult to top this. “Have you considered a formula that would remove the sense of fear?”

“I did once.” he answered, never leaving the keyboard alone, never turning to her. “The results were quite unfruitful. And then there was Batman.”

The Witch stared at the chart for a moment in silence. “How about an oil-based toxin?”

Scarecrow stopped and thoughtfully brought his knuckles under his chin. “Go on.”

“By producing a more concentrated and oil-based toxin it may not be as traceable. It gives out less odor and taste so it could be mixed with everyday groceries. Also, washing it off with water would be difficult, improving its absorption through both skin and mucosa contact.”

“Interesting. Can you do it?”

“I’ll try.”

“What do you need?”

The Witch went to see the chemical cabinet. After a quick browse she turned back and said: “A couple of compounds that are not here.” She then came to the desk and sat at the other computer. Her fingers were fast as she typed to browse the business hours of _Snow’s Drug Store_. They seemed like usual, having been closed over two hours ago tonight. “Can you pick me up at Snow’s Drug Store in Ryker Heights in an hour and forty minutes?”

As she stood up and looked at Scarecrow she could sense slight suspicion, but only for a second. “Of course.”

With that the Witch drove back home with her black Chevrolet Bel Air to change her clothes and take some supplies and tools with her before heading to the Snow’s by foot. It had been a while since the last time she had visited this particular pharmacy. Nothing had clearly changed since the alarm code was still the same. Also the cameras were still in their original places, so it was quite an easy task to go through the blind spots. The job was easier than expected and she was ahead of time by five minutes.

The soon she got out and threw the black tote bag full of bottles and packages over her shoulder, her eyes scanned the area. Dead. It was quiet and no one was around. There was only a lonely hearse a little further away parked on a curb.

The Witch sighed.

A hearse.

Scarecrow drove a hearse.

Of course it had to be a hearse.

She picked up her pace and quickly walked to it. Without waste, she entered the passenger side and fastened her seatbelt, while Scarecrow started the engine.

“Did you get everything you need?” he asked as he drove in a patient, legal speed to not arouse any suspicion.

“I think so.” she answered while adjusting her poofy dress. “It’s a start at least.”

“How long do you think it takes for you to prepare?”

Her breath from the rush of adrenaline finally smoothing, she patted her burning cheeks and lifted her black, detachable hood. She had forgotten how exciting thieving was. “I can’t say for sure. Distilling and extracting aren’t the fastest procedures. We also need to run some tests.”

She noticed a quick, meaningful glance at her way from the Scarecrow.

“Not on me!” she said quickly. “We need someone random. A complete outsider.”

“An impartial subject.”

“Right.” She felt her mask quickly, almost forgotten if she had remembered to put it on. It had been a while since the last time she wore her disguise (if you could call it that). Concealing her identity and to blend in with the shadows was almost as thrilling as the heist itself. After Scarecrow had driven past a couple of blocks, the Witch lowered the tall collar of her hooded shawl.

Silence. Only the engine purred gently as Crane switched gears. Out from the corner of her eye, the Witch took a quick glance at him. There was something about him that seemed.. different. Him behind a wheel – it somehow struck her as odd. A peculiar sight. She had expected his henchmen doing all the mundane work. Retrieving stuff, putting things in motion, driving.. The Witch found herself wondering if he had any underlings at the moment. Perhaps not, or they worked way back behind the scenes. What wicked things the Master of Fear was scheming other than the Witch’s escalating insanity?

“Would you care for a nightcap?” he suddenly asked.

The Witch sighed. “No, thank you. I just want to lie down.”

Scarecrow’s head tilted meaningfully. “Exactly the kind of nightcap I was referring to.”

The Witch groaned and rubbed her temple at realization. “I mean I would like to go home. To sleep.” She quickly turned to him before he could respond. “Alone.”

A chuckle. “Very well. I assume you shall begin working tomorrow then?” he asked as he took a left to _Salvation Bridge_.

Another sigh followed by a yawn. “I suppose.”

 

 

 

_And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,  
_ _And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;  
_ _And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
_ _Shall be lifted—nevermore!_


	7. Malefica Juvante

For the passing week the Witch worked on producing a new base for fear toxin under strict supervision. The extraction was the most tedious work with the numerous ingredients. She needed to be precise. The Scarecrow’s watchful eye wasn’t much of help for her concentration. She wasn’t used to working in front of audience and Scarecrow knew it. For such an important commission he let her work at her own pace, barely even enforcing his own experiments upon her. Only some marginally inappropriate touch here and there with occasional oral pleasuring to establish her servitude.

One day, he said: “May I ask you something?”

She never looked at him, so focused she was on grinding St John’s wort with her bamboo mortar. “Sure.”

“Why did you choose to be called _the Witch_?”

The tiniest smile disappeared as fast as it first appeared. “Because I can do this.” She dumped the powdered wort into a petri dish and took a burner set closer to herself and placed a beaker atop. She set the burner aflame and poured a deciliter or two of purified water in it.

She was fast in her actions as she dug out a couple of vials and a small zip bag of herbs from her utility belt, throwing a few drops from one of the tiny bottles and a teaspoon from another. After grinding a pinch of dried leaves from the zip bag she tossed the grit also into the beaker. She warmed up the ingredients and stirred. Just as it was about to boil, the Doctor intently watched her snuff the flame and cool down the beaker with her black, feathery fan for a moment until she picked up the glassware and, to his surprise, drank down the whole content.

Curious was the way she frowned at the taste and burped a little before she turned away from the desk. Bringing her hands to her hair to pull it back, she then blew a pillar of fire so hot it warmed Scarecrow’s face and so bright he needed to squint. Deeply astonished, he tilted his head. Surely she had mixed a flammable cocktail, but where was the spark? “Impressive!” he replied and the Witch breathed fire again, now making small balls that flew in a tiny arch and dissolved in seconds.

She blew until the fire weakened in a bluish hue and there was no heat any longer.

“What was in that potion?” Scarecrow asked as the Witch nonchalantly sat back by the table and continued her work with a faint, held-back grin on her lips.

“It’s a secret.”

Scarecrow couldn’t help himself from chuckling. “Witches ride on broomstick, you know.”

A sigh. “Angels use wings to catch the wind’s blow.”

“Sorry?” It was quite an odd response from the Witch.

“Never mind..” He watched the Witch work until she suddenly spoke again: “I think I’ve got it.” She carefully injected a few milliliters from one vial to another with a pipette and two pipettefuls of his fear toxin.

Scarecrow stood up to have a closer look. The Witch poured the essential oil into a small bottle, screwed a spray cap onto it and gave it a quick shake. He could sense her tense up as he brought himself behind her, bowing down next to her ear. The will to pay him no attention was strong in her. “Now it has to draw for a moment. A single spray should be enough to make one piss their pants.”

“Marvelous.” he sighed in her ear, bringing a hand to her shoulder, accruing tension. “Shall we put it to test?”

The Witch, regardless of her nervousness, moved to the computer, clearly avoiding his enticement. “May I suggest..” She signed into _Gothbook_ and quickly found a profile of a man. A handsome, dark and stylish man with long hair and sophisticated features. “Terry Bolton is a chauvinist and abuser long overdue to be brought to justice. I know a place he hangs out at. He will make a perfect test subject.”

Scarecrow cocked his brows. “How do you know of his crimes?”

There was a dark frown over her face as she turned to him, offended. “I’ve never met him personally, if that’s what you suggest.”

“Of course, forgive me. So what is your plan?”

“I say we go to the _Loving Demon_ club and I’ll make him so scared he will never want to touch another woman ever again.”

The same night the two drove a block away from Loving Demon. The Witch entered the clubhouse, while the Doctor waited in the car. The plan was to lure the poor victim into a dark, quiet alleyway before the test would commence. It had already been an hour and there was no sight of the Witch or the future victim. His mind wandered on the thought of the Witch’s knowledge about this Terry Bolton. This malignant Don Juan must have had someone close to her wrapped around his finger. Either that or the Witch secretly preyed on insensible, boxheaded men to deliver her own justice.

Which aroused another thought that maybe, just maybe, one day _he_ would be in that blacklist. It was likely that the Witch would eventually have another outburst of inordinate courage. Crane needed to proceed carefully with a fine-tooth comb. He needed to ensure his mastery over the Witch, that she would remain his patient forevermore.

Just as he was growing impatient and nearly considering the possibility of the Witch bailing on him (or worse, double-crossing him), he finally spotted them.

The two were walking and laughing, the man’s arm about her shoulders. It was quite peculiar to see such a smile on the Witch’s face. She seemed.. happy. Relaxed even. Either she was a great actress or she had forgotten about the mission and actually enjoyed the company of another man. Scarecrow exited his car, when the pair disappeared into an alley nearby. Arriving at a corner, he remained hidden to hear the conversation.

“You’re so beautiful.” How cheesy.

“Not so bad yourself.” The Witch’s voice was unusually seductive. Honeyed to conceal vicious thorns.

Peeking out just slightly, Scarecrow could see her pinned against the wall, the man’s hands roaming about her body. For an odd reason, Scarecrow almost felt jealous.

“I must be in heaven because I’m standing next to you.” were Terry Bolton’s sappy, bubbly words, implying inebriation. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel wonderful.” he insisted suggestively, still touching the Witch, her disguised body swooning gently along his movements. The sight sickened Scarecrow.

“There is one thing you could do.” the Witch spoke, gently pushing the man back. “Stand right here.” And all of a sudden she pulled out the spray bottle and squeezed the substance at her victim’s face.

Terry growled, wiping his oiled face and rubbing his eyes. Scarecrow was impressed how such an immediate effect the new fear toxin took as the victim suddenly grew pale at the sight of the Witch, her form distorting into a horrendous figure in a poisoned vision.

Scarecrow watched as Bolton stumbled backwards and the Witch approached accordingly, malice in her eyes. “W-what a-are you?!” Terry stuttered, now his back against the wall, terrified.

“I am your conviction for every woman’s body and soul you defiled.” the Witch spoke and grasped him by the collar, making him whimper at the frown she pierced him with. “I am your worst nightmare, the demon you wish you had never invoked. _I am the Witch_!”

And she punched Terry in the face with a fist full of rage that brought him to his knees. He was crying, cowering and begging for mercy. Scarecrow was not very surprised at the sight of the Witch kicking the defenseless victim, hatred burning in her eyes, her teeth clenching. There was a reason she chose this man and it was sisterhood – someone close and dear to her had indeed suffered. Despite the darkness, it seemed as though there was something off with her eyes. What witchery had she conjured before this hunt?

“You disgusting, pathetic little maggot! The days of your redemption are far gone!” she growled like a bloodhound, driving fright even further as she pulled out a tiny envelope from her utility belt and ripped it open. “You will suffer for all those souls you destroyed, you motherfucker!”

She pulled at the man’s well-maintained hair and blew white powder off the piece of paper. The substance dusted upon his face, the man cried as the particles burned his face, raising an unbearable rash upon his skin. But the Witch did not end it there. She kept kicking at him, now completely engulfed by rage that had tarnished her otherwise serene self.

The test was a success. The toxin worked immaculately. When the beating appeared to see no end, Scarecrow approached the Witch and placed a hand on her shoulder like a mentor proud of his student. She flinched at his touch and something flashed in her eyes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. “That’s enough.” he spoke. “It works.” He said this not to spare the poor man’s life, but to have him out of his sight and fall into madness in his own accord.

Breathing heavily, the Witch looked down at the whimpering man curled up in a ball, his nose bleeding and face all blemished with eczema, pathetic and terrorized. She kicked his ass one more time. “Get out of my sight. Fuck off, you shit!”

Terry didn’t hesitate and sprang up into a limping run, yelping like a miserable dog.

The Witch started to calm down, the whole testing phase clearly having affected her.

“Empowering, isn’t it?”

The Witch swallowed. She seemed flustered. “We should get out of here.” She was shaking.

“I’ll drive you home.”

The whole mileage was silent. Not a word was exchanged as the Witch had her head pressed against the cold window. Her gaze never left the teeming outside, but never seemed to focus on anything either. Scarecrow knew her mind buzzed with what had happened. He hadn’t forgotten the first time he had struck fear in a human being. The apprehension and the tightening of his chest, the tingling of his fingertips when he saw those empty eyes stare at nothingness in a silent scream, interrupted by sudden death.

The Witch fumbled for her keys as soon as Scarecrow had parked into her alley. “May I come in?”

She didn’t even look at him as she gave a complying answer, seemingly not sure how to decline. She let him in as she opened the door, turning on the lights. The place seemed as bohemian as ever and there was the scent of frankincense in the air. The Witch slumped on the armchair in the middle of the room, sighing deep, clearly exhausted as she lifted her hood.

Crane followed suit and seated himself across the table on the familiar velvet couch. “In your professional opinion, how did the test go?” he asked, taking out a pen and a small notebook.

The Witch slightly wrinkled her nose, most probably at his noting equipment – she was growing weary of his bookkeeping. “Better than expected. The effects commenced immediately upon mucosa contact.”

“And how long do you think the subject will experience the effects?”

The Witch seemed spaced out for a second, when she slumped further in her seat. “By estimate from several days to a little over a week because of the small dosage, but I can’t be certain. Hopefully we’ll find out from the news.”

 _The results of the new oil-based fear toxin were successful. Activation was prompt and assumedly long term symptoms are to be expected._ Scarecrow wrote down. “On a personal level, how do you feel?”

Her brows lowered a little. “About what?”

“How did the experiment make you feel? Any sentiments?”

The Witch seemed a little unsure of what she thought, but answered anyway. “I felt strong, like I could do anything.” She looked at her hands. “I could’ve just choked him to death and he would’ve been too scared to defend himself. The power was so overwhelming I nearly scared myself.”

“And how is that?” he took notes.

“I saw myself turning into a monster.” Her expression was dire. “A monster like you.”

Questioning, Scarecrow tilted his head ever so slightly.

“I realized Terry was fully deserving to be beaten to a pulp. All the lives he had ruined, all the homes he’s broken..” A sort of pride could be read from her face and the Doctor perceived growth. “But redemption is not enough and death would be mercy. He needs to suffer.”

Scarecrow smiled faintly. “Everyone can become their own monsters under right circumstances. With power, even you can become a villain. It is only natural for people to use that power to gain whatever they desire, were it fame, justice or monetary gain. Speaking of which..” He dug out a thick wad of hundred bills from his belt pouch and slid it over to the Witch’s side of the table. “Here is your payment.”

The Witch nodded and thanked.

“There’s more where that came from if you decide to continue working for me.”

The Witch’s head sunk slightly. She seemed tired both mentally and physically. Adrenaline had run rapidly into her veins and now the staunching of it wilted her. Scarecrow found himself wondering if she had any energy left even for just a small fright. “Haven’t I done enough already? The oil-base _works_.”

“Ah, but you said it yourself: there’s no guarantee if it has long term effects.” He stood up and approached her. Carefully bringing a hand to her shoulder, he circled the chair like a vulture, placing himself behind her. Either she didn’t dare to move or she had grown accustomed to his touch. “We need more testing. We need to make sure.” He felt her collarbone, traced its grooves with his fingers. She seemed and felt withered under his touch. “We need more test subjects.”

He could feel her shudder. “Surely you’re not suggesting that I should become a guinea-pig, are you?”

He let out a short laugh. “Not tonight at least. We need somewhere secure and enclosed. Somewhere appropriate for controlled.. _vivisection,_ so to speak.” And the Scarecrow knew just the place, but that was for another day. Now, it was compulsory to revitalize the grip about her psyche – to ensure dominion. He brushed his fingers over the Witch’s throat, guiding them to her jawline. “All need to be perfect, sterile of outside factors. An environment of pure experimental science.”

Scarecrow could feel her pulse rise warm and restless. She shifted in her seat marginally and he couldn’t help but notice the scarce rustle of her skirt, thighs grinding against each other beneath the layers of lace and linen. Anticipation accrued in her. Her genital salivation was certain, though cloaked in shrouds, yet burning hot.

“To see Terry fall from grace, to watch him quiver before you.. It gripped you, didn’t it?” he whispered in her ear, grazing her jawbone. “So powerful as he begged.. The grandeur of fear is the driving force of life.” Swiftly, he moved in front of her, crouching, his hands on her knees. The Witch’s chest heaved, her eyes fixated on his as he gathered her hems over her thighs, prying her legs apart with his elbows. “There is no life without fear.”

He was almost displeased at the sight of undergarments beneath her skirt, but regardless moved the scanty fabric to expose her porcelain bits that glistened as per his prediction. “Please, don’t.” were her quiet words as her dainty hands reached for his arms. He didn’t heed her but attacked her womanhood with his mauled mouth, his crooked teeth dangerously grinding against her flesh as his tongue aroused desire. He could feel her clawing at his hood as she squirmed at his oral treatment, begging him to stop. “I can’t..!”

He kept eating at her, tasting the fright that haunted her, the insecurity that plagued her like disease. The darkness of not knowing if there would be hurt riddled her, yet the buckling of her hips pleaded him for gratification. The confusion consumed her, she was falling deeper into his thrall each time the tip of his tongue made a full circle over her prone clitoris, teeth lightly scraping at her mound.

A tiny gasp reached his ears as he forced an entry with his fingers, driving two into her cavity like a lustful explorer, reaching out for the back wall. The Witch was enslaved by lust, and in that lust fear bloomed. That frightful anticipation only drew Scarecrow’s blood downwards, engorging him, awakening his hunger to ravish this woman once more in a violent display of intercourse that rendered angels weeping blood.

He ceased the tonguing and turned to look at the Witch. She had her head turned away as though ashamed, though shame was the least thing she should’ve been worried about. Scarecrow suddenly stood up and witnessed her paralyze in horror at the gun he pulled out from beneath the long hem of his jacket. Aiming between her eyes, he smirked at the tears that filled her stone grey eyes. He cocked his head. “Get on the couch.”

“P-p-please, don’t shoot!” she stuttered, sinking into the armchair.

He turned his aim at her crotch. “Now.” he ordered and the Witch quickly staggered to the couch. He followed and leaned in as she lay down on her black, wavy hair flooding over the wine red velvet like a river of tar. The eye contact never broke as the Witch pleaded, the barrel pressed against her left temple. Crane wasn’t entirely sure was she begging for her poor life or to have him impale her with his cock. No matter how many a time she had trembled before him her door had always welcomed him. “It’s alright to be afraid.” He petted her head and started to unbuckle his trousers, the gun still at her face as he settled himself between her legs. “It’s only natural.”

And he invaded her insides with his hard, throbbing cock, eager to have it in her sheath once more after what had felt like eternity. Pleased, he sighed at the repressed cry that caught the Witch’s throat as he pressed his palm against the couch, treading his left foot against the floor to give support to his next thrust. Beseeching, the Witch’s delicate grasp clutched at his chest, petrified by the fixed gunpoint at her head. The carnal sway pursued fervor and the woe he evoked from the Witch filled him with exhilaration. “Why are you doing this to me?” she whimpered, her hips submitted to a self-sacrificing conform.

Scarecrow inhaled sharply in satisfaction at her heartfelt shriek, when he pulled the trigger, shooting through the couch’s armrest above her head, her hot mantrap tightly clamping around his cock. The Witch was crying hysterically, now hiding her face in her hands as the Doctor maintained the flagrant probing. “Haven’t we been over this?” he grunted as he leaned in, now pointing the hot barrel at her stomach. “The experiment with you is not finished. It will _never_ be finished until I have _dissected_ your mind, _cut up_ your soul and _probed_ every nook and cranny of your psyche!”

He took hold of her wrists to expose her distraught face and to pin her hands above her head. “Your ravishing screams of terror are deliciously exhilarating!” He pushed all the way in, hips nigh glued together and rolled his pelvis, rubbing against her vulva to increase smolder. “Besides, how could I deny a pussy that grows so _wet_ by fear?” He thrusted hard just to hear the Witch moan like she’d never had a cock in her before.

Tears got caught in her lace mask, her full, black lashes glistening. “You’re horrible.” she whimpered, her heels pressing against his ass, indicating her words might have not been entirely sincere. “A sadist.” The Witch sighed at the reverent pumping the Scarecrow brought back, nearly sensually. By now the Witch surely knew there was no romance or gentleness in these kinds of sessions. This was cold-blooded science with beneficial sexual gratification on the side. For such a lush, peaked and libidinous young woman the Witch should be grateful he had chosen her as his subject.

“That I may be.” he crooned. “But what does it make you?” Scarecrow hid the gun into its holster and scooped the Witch’s left leg over his shoulder. “A victim? Thrill-addict?” Placing his left hand upon her mound, he started teasing her clit with a thumb, making the Witch toss her head and halt her breath at the overlording seduction. “Or a flagellant punishing herself for her secretive sins?” Stretching his jaws at the wondrous sight of the Witch falling into a pit of pleasure and distress, Scarecrow sighed as he felt her hot inner muscles flex around him, nearing gratification. It all churned in her, boiled, overflowed.

“No!” was her tearful whisper. She squirmed and suddenly arched in a spasm that tremored through her body as her climax took her in a choke-hold – he could feel it as though an electric shock coursing upon him.

Scarecrow hastened his pace with positioning the Witch’s hips higher, grasping the folds of her knees to give his thrusts a tantalizing, all but pornographic angle as he lewdly licked the stitching of his mouth at her, enjoying each passing moment the Witch watched him in dismay, jolting in her aftershock, her pussy growing sore of the tremendous, brutal fucking. The tiny little clamping and convulsing around his cock and the irregular curve of her cavity persuaded a friction he couldn’t deny and he came. With a deep grunt, it shook him, toppled him, made him stiffen and bury all the way into the Witch. Sighing of release, he unloaded his seed, barely feeling her contraceptive ring at her cervix. A harrowed wince reached his ears.

Swallowing hard and gathering his breath, he lifted the woman upon his lap, still inside her, cradling her torn body in his arms. He brushed her hair and breathed in her scent. There was no affection whatsoever as he studied her weary eyes. She had a secret and it was tightly locked in a steel box, concealed in the back of her mind, he knew it. There was Death in her head, hidden, and perhaps even forcibly forgotten.

“You shall continue the testing for the next week and make alterations to the compound if necessary.” He could feel her shift, her numb hands crawling upon his chest. Her inner muscles still weakly spasmed around his softening member as her eyes, full of awe, fixated on his mouth. He then coldly laid her down and stood up, concealing himself in leaving. “Then, after you have managed a positive report, meet me in the penthouse by _Urbarail Station_ in Chinatown.”

The Witch seemed befuddled and fatigued. She digested his dispatch for a moment. “What then?”

“We shall run the final test. I will see you in a week.” And thus, he left the Witch House never to be seen nor heard of for the passing seven days.


	8. Invasive Therapy

The week came to a conclusion and the Witch entered the elevator with a satchel in a tight grasp. She pushed the button for the top floor and steeled her mind once more as the doors closed. She felt a tiny tug in her stomach, when the elevator rose. The sensation was deepened by her growing tension. She didn’t know what to expect, but was quite certain this meeting would include her in the testing of her variation of Scarecrow’s fear toxin. Devious intentions were ensured. Gloom came to her like an old friend, clinging to her with cold, prickly nails.

 _Ding_. She stepped out and climbed the stairs that lead to the balcony. Pitiless chill blew past her. Through the vivid neon lights of Chinatown and the lit paper lanterns adorning the rooftop, the moon yet shone brightly, waxing. She took a moment to admire it, wishing the pale rays would grant her strength to overcome the inevitable horrors.

The Witch pushed her way through the heavy door to the penthouse. The facility was vast and nigh empty save for the grand, glass-walled container at the end of it. At its right side an array of work desks and the Scarecrow seated by them. His toxin harness hung on a rack with his jacket and, surprisingly, even the clawed injection device had been laid to rest further away on the desk. He did not pay her attention as he browsed the papers he had set before him – he was already aware of her arrival. Serenely, the Witch approached.

“Do you have the reports?” Scarecrow asked, seeming unusually grouchy.

“I do.” The Witch opened her satchel and handed him a bundle of papers.

Furrowing his brows, Scarecrow eyed her report half-heartedly, the strain fading. The Witch wondered if there were complications with his plans, other than what were reserved for her. Delays? Disclaims? Foils and failures? Maybe even Batman? Perhaps her report would be the only good news today.

“The test with one Terry Bolton proved to have rendered the subject into intense fit of distress. The effects, due to small yet powerful dosage, lasted for a full 24 hours. After minor adjustments and a dozen of test subjects I managed a concoction that, with a 3ml dosage, will have the subject fall into delusional state for days. The higher the dosage, the longer it lasts. Direct mucosa contact works faster, while mixed with food the effects take place in about an hour after consumption.”

Scarecrow flipped another page. “Very good.” his tone indicated contentment. “And what came of Terry Bolton?”

A smile twitched the corner of the Witch’s mouth as she took a bottle of the improved fear toxin and placed it on the table. “He was institutionalized for paraphrenia. Apparently the toxin evoked severe paranoia.”

Scarecrow laid the papers down and eyed the glass bottle. Finally, a pleased sigh. “Excellent work.” He turned to her and gestured the other chair by him. “Shall we begin then?”

The Witch placed the satchel on the desk, sat down and braced herself.

“We will start with an interview and a physical exam, after which you will be given a small dosage of toxin as a final trial. Are you ready?”

The Witch pursed her lips. “Do I have a choice?” It was a rhetorical question.

A wicked sneer tugged at the Doctor’s face. He pressed a button on the tape recorder on the desk. “October 7th, 5:14 pm. Patient notes: Geier, Ada.. How are you feeling, Ms. Geier?”

“That’s quite an unnecessary question, don’t you think?”

“Indulge me, Ms. Geier. It is all part of the experiment.” The Doctor prepared a handheld device and a syringe-needle.

She snorted in her mind. She knew all this was just his perception of foreplay. She knew he took pleasure in toying with her emotions, especially with the dreadful kind. What she also knew was that if she did not play along the consequences would be dire. “Anxious. Stressed.” was her simple answer.

“Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve, please.”

She obliged.

“I will take a blood sample to make sure you haven’t taken any.. performance-enhancing substances.” he said this with a taunt, when he took her arm.

The Witch restrained a jolt at his cold touch and watched him wrap a tourniquet around her arm to raise a vein and disinfect the fold of her elbow. She made a fist and Scarecrow pricked the protruding vein to draw blood. “I assure you I’ve had nothing of the sort.” She kept her calm the best she could as she watched the syringe fill with red.

Scarecrow didn’t respond. He placed a few drops of her blood into a tiny cartridge and kept the rest of the sample in a vial that he left on a rack. No doubt for further examination. After wiping her puncture wound, he swiftly bandaged her arm and inserted the cartridge into the device. The Doctor then took her wrist and placed a thumb upon her radial artery. The Witch fought the urge to shiver. It seemed like an eternity, when the Doctor monitored the clock high up on the wall. “Elevated pulse, as expected.”

Her fingertips tingling, the Witch bundled her hands tightly on her lap, when Scarecrow finally let go.

“Now.” the Doctor spoke, folding his hands upon his lap. “How would you describe your physical condition?”

“Good general health. No headache or nausea. Only slight weakness as a result of unrest.”

“Can you tell me why?”

The questions started to annoy the Witch. “The uncertainty of how the toxin will affect me is unsettling. Also, as a non-consenting test subject, the entire experiment makes me feel restless.”

A grimace distorted Scarecrow’s mangled face. “Then why exactly are you here, if you are, in fact, dissenting?”

The Witch grew embittered by the Doctor’s dissection. He very well knew why she was here, but, mentally sadistic as he was, he needed to hear her say it. “Because I have no other choice. Knowing you, there are countermeasures if I wouldn’t offer myself for your science.”

“Clever girl.” he crooned under his breath, condescending, belittling her, intentionally downtrodding.

A beep and the Scarecrow turned to the blood-analyzer. “Your hemoglobin seems a little low, but otherwise the sample is clean. We may commence.” he said and gestured a piece of clothing neatly folded on the table. “Change your clothes, if you please.” He paused the recording.

The Witch eyed the pastel green patient gown. It was not for her own safety to change into non-restricting clothes, the Witch was certain, but to demean her. “May I have some privacy?”

The Doctor slowly shook his head. “No, you may not.” His tone was smug. He needed to make sure she would not have any of her own concoctions hidden in any of her garments to hinder the test results.

Bitterly, the Witch stood up from her seat, unzipped her dress and let it cascade down around her ankles.

She felt unnaturally dirty, while Scarecrow watched her. “All the way.”

Humiliated, the Doctor’s keen eyes never leaving the sight of her, the Witch took off her shoes and undergarments and quickly changed into the patient gown. When she folded her clothes on her chair, the Doctor approached her with a nigh feline grace, hands reaching for her as he came to her. The shreds of his mask never fully concealing the horridness of his disfiguration, fervor seemed to fester about his features, when he brought his fingers into her hair, so close to her she could feel his breath upon her hairline.

He was absorbing her life force, memorizing her, registering all about her like it was the last time he could ever do so. “I will give you a few drops of concentrated, oil-based fear toxin once you are locked in that room.” he breathed. “If your calculations are correct, the effects should last for twenty-four hours, during which I shall examine the toxin’s influence on you.”

Instinctively, the Witch sank her head, when the fingers crept about the back of her head. She wasn’t quite sure of what he was expressing with such touching. It was not affection – it was never affection. Dominance was the most probable intent, which made the Witch more anxious about the possibility of him exploiting her while under the new toxin’s effects.

He suddenly withdrew and guided her to the glass room’s door. Upon pressing the switch, the door folded up and the Witch stepped in, feeling all her life force draining from her at the very first step she took on the cold, steel-paneled floor. Here, she was stripped of all that she was. Here, she was only a subject.

When reaching the middle of the space, Ada turned back to Scarecrow solemnly, expectant of her inevitable doom that wore his face. Upon locking eyes with him, after he had squeezed the dropper cap and opened the bottle, he spoke: “When under the influence, it would be much of help if you could provide me with description of everything you experience as detailed as possible. I will be right outside, monitoring everything that happens here. Are you ready?”

Instead of a simple _yes_ , Ada recited: “ _Lo! ’t is a gala night, within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight in veils, and drowned in tears, sit in a theatre, to see a play of hopes and fears, while the orchestra breathes fitfully the music of the spheres_.”

The Doctor seemed ever so slightly perplexed, yet the tiniest semi-smile appeared over his face.

“You’re not the only one, who can quote Poe.”

A nigh inaudible chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.” And he brought the pipette to her complying mouth.

The very moment the drops settled upon her tongue, Ada was startled by her vision growing dimmer and the sight of Scarecrow’s ghostly figure quickly closing the bottle whilst stepping back and disappearing into the thick smoke that suddenly curled about the room. The Doctor was gone and she was all alone, smothered in smoke and mist, coldness embracing her.

Scarecrow left the room and closed the door behind him, moving over to the window panel where he could see the subject back stepping, trembling, fear veiling her entirety. He took the tape recorder to file his thoughts. “The patient was given a light dose of the oil-based fear toxin. Fear gripped her upon immediate contact of mucous membrane in mouth.” He observed her tossing as the fleeting visions consumed her. All the courage that she had mustered with painstaking effort was now all gone, replaced by the primal instinct of fear. _Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall_ , he mused to himself as Ada’s eyes shifted about the room wildly, her fingers digging into her scalp.

Suddenly, she stopped as her eyes fixated on the further end of the room, her eyes filling with tears. “Mother?!” she cried out and the Doctor inhaled sharply at the discovery. He swiftly moved to the wider windowpane to have a better view of his subject. Ada held her distressed heart, approaching her delusion with cautious, weak steps. “I’m sorry, mother..” she whispered, suffocating a sob. “No, you were suffering. You were in so much pain.. I had to!”

“The patient undergoes visions stemming from past guilt involving her mother.” Scarecrow spoke to the recorder. “A guilt suppressed below the surface into oblivion assumedly for years.”

Ada stood still, looking down as though by a bedside. She was crying as she fiddled at the air and looked back down. “I had to, mother. I just can’t see you like this.” And she startled, breaking down, covering her ears and shaking her head. The voices in her mind must have been unbearable.

“Apparently she had performed a mercy killing. Perhaps with her own concoctions? What begs the question has there been other times, when she has euthanized another living being. Were these other possible occasions as difficult as this one?” Scarecrow was exhilarated. Watching Ada so bare, so unbridled, so.. purely _frightened,_ it was thoroughly gripping. Though the shapelessness of her patient gown hid her dainty figure, that tossing could not betray her feminine sway. So fearful, so purely distressed.

Ada ran to another corner and, as she halted, her hands clasped her mouth. “No..!” She collapsed on her knees, wailing. “Sally!”

Scarecrow pressed a button on the intercom. “What do you see, Ms. Geier?” he inquired, barely containing the mirth in his tone, pressing a hand on the cold glass as the woman jolted, her head spinning as though she hadn’t the slightest idea where his voice was coming from. As though his voice was of demonic presence. “Who is Sally?”

Ada turned to stare at the floor again, sniffling, hugging herself.

“Who is she?”

“She’s my sister.” she whispered as she crept closer to the corpse only visible to her. “My pretty little sister..”

“What has come to your little sister?”

Ada, tearfully, petted at the air before her with a shaking hand. “She..” She withdrew and hid her face. “She’s dead and it’s all my fault!”

“What did you do?” the Doctor murmured.

“I.. I was abstracted. I’d had a long day, I was tired..”

“What happened?”

“She.. She drank from the decanter I had left on the table!” She shook her head and rocked her body, sadness and penance twisting her heart into a knot. “I didn’t know, I didn’t think! It was my fault!”

It was enticing to see hysteria seize her with a tight grip, ravishing her mind like a plague. It prickled her core and bedeviled the Doctor’s desire to push another button on the intercom panel and release a cloud of fear toxin upon another to drive her further into madness. He suppressed such desires, as this experiment was not to cripple her with fear but to observe the effects of this version of his toxin. “Patient expresses past trauma for the loss off another family member. A younger sister died of poisoning. No doubt a heavy cross to bear.” he spoke to the recorder. “How delicious.”

Scarecrow observed the dulcet, desolate remorse and terror in the human terrarium throughout the night. He barely slept – the suspense of her madness was much too captivating. The time he actually did sleep he had video recorded everything just so he would not miss a thing, surveying the content afterwards. Ada also seemed to barely have any sleep, the frightful visions haunting her nightmares. Surely Hypnos had aided the Doctor in his quest each time Ada jumped and twitched in her sleep with shrieks so bloodcurdling they sent a stirring down the Scarecrow’s entirety.

Her microsleeps intruded, Ada’s violent thrashing grew diminished each time, her strength dying out and voice cracking. By dawn, the horrors faded little by little and she was growing weary. Her energy to fight was wearing thin as was the toxin’s effects. By afternoon she had been sleeping half-peacefully, all curled up in a corner of the floor, completely dismissive of the bed that lay near her. The time had come for a conclusion.

Ceremonially, Scarecrow opened the heavy door and approached Ada’s miserable husk. She did not move. Barely seemed to breathe. “October 8th, 3:47 pm. Patient notes: Geier, Ada.” he spoke to the recorder. “The effects of the oil-based fear toxin seem to be wearing off, as expected. A lot has been revealed of what corrodes her. Many a regret haunt her mind. The time is nigh for an interview.. Wake up, Ms. Geier.” he called. Not an answer. Not a shift. “ _Wake up_.”

Ada levered herself up by the trembling power of her arms. Languidly, her eyes all swollen, she sat up with her head slightly swaying as though she was having the worst hangover of her life.

“How do you feel?”

She lifted her head to see him, never standing up. The greys of her eyes were surrounded with bloodshot, her dark eye make-up smeared and runny, dreaming of cleansing from lema. Upon his sight, her heart seemed to sink and shatter, but there was also a sense of relief in her eyes. Ada straightened up on her knees as he stood before her. To Scarecrow’s surprise, she pressed her forehead against his left thigh, nearing tears, her tiny hands clasping the leather of his trousers and the cold steel of his leg-brace.

Ada was broken. A miserable thing at his feet in perfect condition for further physical examination. Scarecrow trod down the urge to touch her as she silently cried. “Please, Ms. Geier, it is vital for the experiment.”

A bitter snort. “Fuck your experiment.” she whispered, poison in her words.

An answer he did not expect. It nearly invoked a will to strike for discipline. “Care to repeat that?”

Without a word, her hands snaked to the brim of his trousers, unfastening the belt. It outright fazed him. He took a step back and grasped her arms, when she crouched and attacked the button and fly. She fervently dug out his half-hard member just to quickly hide it in her hungry mouth.

A stifled groan betrayed Scarecrow as the evocative laving burgeoned him fast (and furious). He drove his fingers into the mess of her black hair, when she swallowed him, bobbing her head, the ball of her tongue ring delectably flicking over his tip and skimming down his full length at each nod. He had nearly forgotten the allure of her crafty mouth.

The serpentine sucking delivered him languorous warmth that flushed him with sensuous tingling, inspiring the will to ruin her, lambast her with his unyielding cock without restraint, enforcing his mastery, his reign. What a splendid little subject she was!

He felt tugging at the hem of his shirt and hands crept beneath the thin, wool fabric. Dainty fingertips grazed his skin and mapped out his scars as though to know his body by heart. He took pleasure in her touching, even more so as her eyes met his with incendiary admiration, her capricious tongue yet working to beguile him. “What a fluent oral pursuer you’ve become.” he purred, admiring the precious sight at his feet. He gave a light pet on her dimpled cheek as she sucked. “But do slow down, pumpkin.” he said this as he withdrew from her mouth, her rouged lips making a gentle smacking sound as the tip of his erection pulled out. “Let us summarize this session over a cup of tea, before we put your newfound fancy into practice, shall we? There is no need to rush.”

Ada’s eyes narrowed and the Doctor was confounded, when she darted on her feet and pushed him against the wall with unexpected force. She slapped away the recorder, sending it to the floor and brought her groping hands all over his chest as she panted, her whole body tightly pressed against his. Scarecrow was not quite sure what to do with his hands, when she grinded against him full of heat and luster, her eyes glazed. Yet, there was something dead. Something cold in her stony gaze. Something had changed. There was hunger.

With momentary hesitation seizing him, Scarecrow let her pull his shirt over his head and toss it onto the floor, never touching his cowl. Ada attacked his chest with her mouth, kissing and biting at his skin. After the initial shock, the Doctor gave in to her frenetic touch, caressing her hair and shoulders. A thought occurred to him. “Very well then.” he chuckled, suddenly pulling at her hair, forcing a hiss sizzle through her clenched teeth. He gazed deep into the abyss that was her eyes.

There, amidst desire, was also lingering fright. A certain kind of awe. Like fearing him was the lesser of two evils compared to what she had been through. As though she was offering herself, body and soul, so she wouldn’t have to endure the visions ever again. “Had it been that terrifying?” he breathed and licked the upper row of his roller-coaster of pearly whites. “Was facing your fears, your traumas, so horrifying that you feel compelled to throw yourself at my mercy?” He gently gnawed at her hairline as he groped her succulent ass, driving their hips tighter together. “Or do you just miss having me between your legs? To _plow_ you like a cornfield, to _bludgeon_ you until you scream from a violent orgasm?”

Scarecrow sensed her knees buckle at his words , when she silently moaned at the thought, her delicate body rubbing at his member, inviting. But she never spoke a word, as though the experiment had made her mute. He quickly grasped her face, bringing his face close to hers, the stitching of his mouth barely grazing her lips. “I asked you a question.” he told silently.

Fingers crept beneath his cowl to touch his collarbones. “Yes.” she finally whispered back. And what a siren word it was!

Grinning inwardly, the Doctor took a short, careful breath as to not express his glee at her response. “Yes what?” he insisted as he took a look at her, now bringing his hands slowly to her back.

Her eyes shifted, trying to look for her answer in his patched features. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, but words seemed to be lost. “I..” She had no idea how to respond.

Scarecrow tugged the bows of her patient gown and with one, elegant move he undressed her and pushed her to the conveniently placed bed at the same time. She gasped at this, seeming strangely surprised by the sudden development. “So you consider me less of a threat compared to the nightmares..” he spoke, had a quick admiring glance at her wonderful nudity before laying on top of her. “And you yearn to have me _plunge_ inside you?”

Ada’s hands reached for his chest, longing to feel his skin, to trace every inch, to caress each and every scar he wore. Scarecrow sneakily wound his fingers around her neck. He could feel her pulse rise under his touch, nervous of what was to come. He watched her tense up as her hungry gaze advertised smolder, her touch running just below his left collarbone, where a shallow imprint of a scar was located – where Killer Croc had bitten off a piece of his flesh.

“If you think..” He grasped his erection to rub the tip against her hot vulva, just to flirt with her arousal. “That I won’t pose a threat to you,” She held in a moan and it twisted her face into an expression of agony. ”..you are _gravely_ mistaken!” He tightened the grip around her neck and her eyes shot open, her breath growing shallow, soul sunken (if there was any left).

She kept swallowing and gasping, yet wrothe impatiently at each stroke of his hard member that poked at her clit. Scarecrow relished in her vexation in which powerful arousal meddled with indecisiveness. “Please, don’t talk.” her voice wheezed as she buckled her hips upwards, yearning for him.

“Come again?”

Ada, despite her small size, was remarkably skilled in surprising him with her brawn when she really wanted to. Like now, by worming her right elbow against his arm that held the chokehold and forcefully pushing her hips upwards, she was able to flip him on his back in a whiff with a foul look upon her face. She assertively grasped his cock. Crafty girl. “I said shut up!” she hissed and impaled herself.

Two moans intertwined in delirium. Scarecrow grunted, grasping her ass and stretched his neck at the wondrous feeling of Ada’s enticing pussy enveloping him with tight, slippery friction as she rode him, her body gyrating in a captivating manner. He savored her frenzied rocking, her ardent grinding against his pubic bone to chase satisfaction. Her wild, shaggy hair tossed as she pressed her hands against his abdomen. Scarecrow kneaded her flesh, giving support to her splendid fucking, genital squelching heightening the eroticism of it all. And what a sublime fucking it was!

“Fuck, you’re so deep!” Scarecrow barely heard her whisper and it sent a shiver down his spine. Her eyes were squinted, nearing tears, as though she was hating herself for uttering such words. Yet, she was drooling by the heavenly pleasure his cock brought her.

The Doctor aligned himself with her hectic maneuvers. “Go on, pumpkin.” he sighed, bouncing her. “Tell me all about how you crave to have me inside you.” He took delight in her high-pitched, vibrating whimper. “Tell me what great pleasure my cock brings to you. Let me know how _painfully_ much your debauched pussy needs to be crammed!”

“I.. I-I..” Ada stuttered, nearly losing her rhythm. “I need you..! I need to come! With you inside me!” Her screams rang in indignation and Scarecrow idolized the every passing moment of her misery.

As a counteraction, he returned her previous sneak attack by abruptly pushing her on her back. Tugging at her thighs, he pulled her closer, positioning her right leg around his waist while scissoring her left. Upon bringing overpowering fingers to her hot labia, Scarecrow drank in her agonized mewling as she squirmed, her body twisting and her hand reaching for his cock. An electrifying spark rushed through him, when she gently plucked at him. He hadn’t thought he could have become any harder, but, as it seemed, he did. He was worried he would reach climax much too early, so he removed her grasp of him.

“Patience, my dear.” he told and pinched the base of his member to calm the overwhelming arousal. “Like I said: there’s no need to rush. Time stands still here.” And he rushed his hideous face at her, attacking her mouth with a raiding tongue and fervent kisses, or whatever the act resembled with his lack of proper lips. A gentle touch crept over the respirators of his mask as Ada intensely joined the swordplay of tongues. The moment her fingertips grazed his ears, Scarecrow sensed the most heedful flinch, when Ada came to realize his lack of earlobes.

He parted as she carefully lifted his hood, the look of revulsion taking shape upon her face. Confusion read all over her, not quite sure where his mask began and where it ended. She frowned in disbelief as she studied his features now in full view. “Go on.” Scarecrow spoke and started teasing Ada’s opening, his fingers slimy with her secretions. She responded by a silent moan as she took hold of his arms. “Take it all in. Enshroud me with you gaze. Etch this horrendous face deep into your mind.”

“What happened to you?” she whispered, holding in a moan.

“Misapprehension.” Scarecrow lifted his chin ever so slightly. “Error of judgment. The same that will happen to you if you ever even consider crossing me.”

And he quickly shoved himself into her, forcing out a gasp. He buried himself all the way in and Ada’s head tossed, her eyes squeezing shut at his girth. But the Doctor wouldn’t have it. He violently grasped a fistful of her hair and gave a rude pelvic thrust. “Look at me!”

Tearfully, Ada obeyed.

“Revere this hideous body.” Winding her right leg tighter around himself, he started an agile rocking that enticingly rubbed at her sweetest spot, her body twisting deliciously. Scarecrow sighed in relief to be back inside of her. Tight, hot muscles flexing and clenching around Scarecrow, Ada parted her lips in adoration of the fucking, her wide, stone grey eyes never leaving the sight of him. Her whole being was cloaked in desperation and Scarecrow was the only one, who could deliver salvation. Wondrous was the way Ada’s hips joined his pace, almost like trying to hasten it. She had fallen hard into ecstasy as her small hands crept under his trousers to grasp his ass. Oh, the eroticism of it all!

Bringing himself closer to her, he groaned at the approaching climax and the silent mewling of the deliriously frisky Witch. “You are mine.” he declared, salivating.

Ada seemed quite shocked about this as though something painfully kept dying in her despite the ever-reviving arousal.

“Say that you are mine.” The Doctor pulled out and grasped her throat again. Ada seemed to panic a little. Her hips implied impatience, yet her eyes alluded reluctance. “Say that you belong to me.” Him not re-entering agonized her. He tightened the chokehold. “Say it!” he roared, watching tears fill Ada’s eyes as she clawed the leather of his long, fingerless glove, her hips yearning for his.

She gasped for air and fought for an answer, floundering. Her mind was shredding. But just as Scarecrow was about to raise a hand to strike, she cried: “I’m yours..!” The grip about her throat immediately eased. “I’m yours! Just please..!”

The Doctor let out a sound of contentment at her desperate words and slowly slid back in, earning a wanton moan that shook his core.

And he fucked her good, vigorously grinding against her greedy vulva as the musk of sex hung around the two like it had never left ever since Arkham. He intensely watched the squirming and writhing and those fruitful breasts bouncing by each meaningful thrust. Ada was completely lost. Stripped of power. Utterly in his control. His alone.

Ada’s eyes were tightly fixated on his. They transpired both lust and self-hatred. What a delicious combination. With a dash of fear that was never truly gone nor smothered, she had been set ablaze. The Witch had succumbed, and soon she started tensing and her breath became halting. Pure luster engulfed her with a nearing peak.

Scarecrow groaned. “Do it. Come all over me! Encase me with your pussy!”

With those magic words and borderline violent pumping, Scarecrow had Ada scream as she cramped, her insides finally spasming. He kept splitting her tightening cavity until he also fell into a shuddering orgasm, discharging everything he had. He coiled, catching his breath, when warmth and splendor enfolded him in a torrent of pleasurable judder. He leaned his forehead to the nook of her neck and grasped her left breast to pinch her hard nipple, closely listening to her deep, relieved breathing as her insides kept their involuntary squeezing around him. Fingers reeled to the back of his head. The leg around him trembled and contractions hugged his slowly softening member.

After taking one more moment to fiddle with Ada’s breast and collecting himself (he found it amusing that pawing her bosom was actually quite soothing) he then straightened up to take a look at her. She seemed cautious in her fatigue. Despite stress, both mental and physical, she still could not let her guard down. Good. He enjoyed her feisty reserve. It had always been a delight to make her flinch. “So, how about we get dressed and continue with that interview?”

It was as though waking up from the longest dream, when Scarecrow pulled out to redo his trousers and pick up his shirt and the recorder from the floor. Ada sat up and had a sudden need to throw up. She swallowed and took deep breaths to calm the horrid feeling. Remorse brewed in her no matter how hard she tried to push away all that had happened. The ugly visions, the painful memories. The Scarecrow..

When she was finally certain she could stand up without hurling, Ada exited the glass room to fetch her clothing. Scarecrow had returned to his research long ago. Like he always did. Cold. Not a shred of emotion. “Can you point me to the bathroom?” she asked and he gestured the door at the far right corner of the room.

After washing herself, dressing up and fixing her smeared make-up, the Witch exited the bathroom to take a seat next to the Doctor, who turned to her and started recording again. “4:34 pm. Patient notes: Geier, Ada.” he began. “How do you feel, Ms. Geier?”

She sighed calmly, not allowing her voice to falter. She began rebuilding the walls of her mind. “Exhausted.” her voice was raspy. Her throat suddenly felt sore.

“Any nausea? Physical weakness?” Scarecrow crossed his arms, bringing a row of knuckles under his chin, contemplatively, his intense eyes freezing the Witch.

“Yes. Both. But the nausea is dissolving already.”

“Can you describe me the effects of the oil-based fear toxin?”

A sting prickled at the Witch’s chest and she fought back tears. “As planned, the toxin is odorless and tasteless. Only mild tingling upon contact. Symptoms of distress and hallucinations took effect shortly after ingestion.”

“And the hallucinations? How severe were they?”

The Witch could feel her blood pressure rising. “Very. In fact, so severe that half of the time I wasn’t even quite sure I was still here.”

The Doctor’s eyes flashed and his sickening face expressed intrigue. “What did you see? Spare no details.”

The Witch’s windpipe tightened. “At first, the room was filled with smoke and parasites. Then, as it all cleared, I.. I saw my mother.” Despite the urge to turn away she kept the eye contact with the Doctor. “She was in pain.”

“A memory?”

“Yes. She was suffering from dementia and lung cancer. She was always in pain even with medication.”

“So you euthanized her.”

The words slashed her like a knife, but she only nodded.

“And what about your sister?”

The Witch nearly broke and she dabbed the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. Though just a vision, seeing her little sister convulse in silent pain of respiratory system failure only a few seconds before death had been harrowing. The empty face and lifeless body engulfed in poison.. “I had a phone call, when I was in the middle of mixing a.. substance. I’d had a rough day, I had left the decanter to cool down and..” Words caught her throat and she no longer was able to keep away the tears. “She drank from it. She probably thought it was grape juice. When the medics came it was already too late. My mother was devastated and my father never spoke to me again. Sally was only four years old, when she died.” her voice faltered. With shaking hands she took a tissue and a small mirror from her satchel’s inner pocket to dab away the tears.

The Doctor didn’t say a word. The Witch was nearly offended by the lack of condolences, but what did she expect? Sympathies from the Doctor would have been empty words without meaning, nothing more. She cleared her throat. “To answer your next inquiry: yes, I am guilt-ridden. While working as a pharmacist I was once in a while approached by desperate people. People in a lot of pain and distress. Though I merely provided them an easy way out, they still haunt me. Their dead voices echoed in my delusions. ‘ _Why did you let us die?’, ‘This wasn’t what I wanted!’, ‘I was weak, why weren’t you a professional and not let me overdose?’_. All I wanted was to ease their agony, but I can’t help thinking if there had been another way to erase their suffering. I knew these people had no cure, I knew they wouldn’t have lived much longer, but..” she sighed and left her sentence unfinished, her gaze wandering off.

“There is nothing wrong in empathizing with the dying.” Scarecrow finally spoke. “It reminds us how fragile human life is. Fearing one’s own death and the suffering that comes before it is not uncommon.” he commented.

“Indeed.” She sniffed and swallowed in an attempt to lift up her flimsy mental walls.

“In conclusion, you experienced visions stemming from guilt. It tells us that the toxin has its way to work through the thick layers, no matter how deep the guilt is smothered. The fear still commenced. Do you agree?”

She was silent for a moment. She did not dare to mention the other visions, the tiny flickers, when Scarecrow himself had appeared in her delusions as a gargantuan, menacing being, hunting her, tormenting her. “I do.” she said solemnly, yet, she had an inkling feeling that he was suspicious.

“We shall continue this interview another time to see the long term effects. You are free to go.”

The Witch was surprised by the abrupt end of this session, and the fear of what the future held slumped into her. “So that’s it then?”

“I will call you for your next checkup.”

Why? What could he possibly still want from her? Had Sitri chosen her to be forever cursed with the lecherous ploys that the Scarecrow forced upon her? Surely at least Himeros had his hand in all this. The Witch waited for another moment and took her satchel. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to it.” she remarked and stood up.

A chuckle. “Give it some time. You might change your mind.” Scarecrow placed a wad of hundred bills on the table. “Here. Your payment.”

Putting on her coat, the Witch wrinkled her nose and, feeling like a whore, took the money and turned to the door. “Goodbye, Dr. Crane.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Geier”

The Witch left the penthouse with emptiness filling her. She might have been just hungry, but there was also a growing void in her mind. Depression was slowly eating at her from the inside. How had it all come to this?

After walking aimlessly for what seemed like hours it suddenly started to rain, so she took shelter in a small diner nearby, escaping the cold grip of the unforgiving weather. The homely diner greeted her with warmth and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Oh, how she had missed coffee! She took a seat at the counter and an elderly waiter approached her with a tired smile. “What will it be, sweetie?”

The Witch had trouble with facial expressions. Her face felt cold and numb, but she tried her best to smile back. She never lifted the hood of her wool jacket. “Black coffee and a turkey club sandwich, please.”

“Coming right up.” and the waiter disappeared into the kitchen.

The Witch quickly took a tiny drop of her painkiller to ease the lingering throb at her forehead. A cup of coffee appeared before her and she immediately took a sip. The hot beverage burned her tongue, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to wake up from this nightmare and breathe. Her limbs felt sore, not to mention her private parts. She felt tired and all else in the world seemed meaningless. What had happened to her? How did she end up like this: subdued to the will of a monster? Where had she lost her own will? When had she become so fleshly weak? Not ever had anyone had such power over her and she wasn’t exactly fully upset about it. What treachery was this that she had no control anymore? What a sickly thought it was that a man, no matter how brilliant-minded, had overthrown her from her own life!

Her scattered thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a question: “Is this seat taken?”

Ada couldn’t be bothered. She shook her head, never turning to the woman at her side, keeping her face hidden under the hood. She thanked the waiter as her sandwich was brought. She took a bite to relieve the hunger.

“Hey, do I know you?” the woman said and ordered a chocolate milkshake.

Ada, weary-eyed, turned to her right to look at the blonde woman, who studied her face intently with her heavily shadowed eyes. After a couple of seconds, her face lit up. “You’re that new shrink from the Asylum! I thought you looked familiar. You’ve changed your hair.”

Ada murmured and nodded.

“We’ve never met properly. Call me Harley. Pleased, to meet ya!” the woman introduced herself and gave out a hand, which Ada shook firmly and politely, yet kept it as short as possible.

“Ada. And I don’t work at Arkham anymore.” Ada said dully and took a bite of her sandwich.

Harley Quinn shrugged. “Can’t blame ya! Lotsa people have quit, become insane or professional criminals. There was Dr. Strange, Dr. Murphy, Dr. Kellerman, Dr. Crane.. Me, I just quit because I wanted to be with Mr. J!” A quivering, grieving sigh. “Oh, my puddin’..”

Ada assumed Harley was talking about the Joker. She didn’t know her that well, Harley Quinn, Harleen Quinzel, nor was she ever her patient, but Ada had read this jester criminal’s profile. And Joker – Ada had read somewhere that he had died due to complications from something called _Titan_ chemical. They say Joker was the worst of the worst. How could someone be worse than Scarecrow?

“Anyhoo, you taking a break from a walk of shame?” Harley meowed.

Ada felt her cheeks warm up and she turned back to her sandwich. “Pardon?”

“Oh, come on! I know that look. I mean, even I’ve had it back in the day. Soooo..”

Ada tried her best to not shudder at Harley’s high-pitched intonations. She took another bite of her snack.

“Was it the Doctor?”

Ada quickly took a sip of her coffee, strained. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

Harley snorted, loosened her black and red knit scarf and opened her leather bicker jacket. Out from the corner of her eye, the Witch glimpsed Harley’s skimpy top that emphasized her well-endowed bosom. “Please, I saw the Doc push you into the bathroom at Arkham and you don’t need to be a psychic to know what that means! Besides, you look so pale and shaken that it can’t be anyone else.”

Ada sighed and took another bite, dismayed. She finally turned to the Clown Princess of Crime, who slurped through the straw of her tall milkshake.

“I also heard rumors about the ol’ Strawman hanging around with a snazzy babe. I’m not judging, ya know? People told me I was a loony for banging Mr. J.” Ada didn’t quite approve Harley’s equation. “So, how is it?”

“How is what?”

“You know, getting your field plowed by Scarecrow?”

Ada shuddered and, with the corner of her upper lip twitching at the thought, turned away. Her eyes on the depleting coffee, all the times and ways Scarecrow had pillaged her flashed through her mind. She said nothing as she gestured the waiter for a refill.

“Well?”

A sigh. “Harrowing.” she answered. “Nightmarish. Depraved. Unsettling.” She could’ve gone on with such adjectives.

“And?” Quinn insisted.

The Witch rolled her eyes and turned to her with an ambivalent face. “The most incredible sex I’ve ever had.” she whispered and Harley burst into giggles.

“Yea, kinda figured he’d give a good ride once you get past the whole..” Harley grimaced as she gestured her face with an open palm. “Mutilation and what not.”

Ada finished her sandwich. “What is wrong with me?” she groaned.

“Nothing! It’s just the Arkham inmates. They have needs like everyone else. The difference is that they’re horny and give it exceptionally good to make up for the lost time after being cooped up alone in their cells.”

Ada suddenly had an abhorrent thought of randy Penguin. What a freaky mental image. She quickly decided to change the subject. “You’ve known Dr. Crane for a long time.”

“Yes and no. He was a shrink at Arkham before me, but we never exactly worked together, in or out the Asylum. There was that one time I agreed to distract the Bat-freak, while the Doc was working on some big project. Why?”

Ah, the _City of Fear_. Ada had heard of it. “What did he look like before Killer Croc attacked him?”

“Oh, he was.. he was okay looking. I mean, I only had eyes for Mr. J, but yeah. Brown hair, high cheekbones.. Like a normal guy. Nothing exceptional, but yeah, you could say he was handsome. I guess he’s destroyed all evidence how he used to look like because, ya know, all that fear stuff.”

Figures.

“So does he have a big one?”

Ada nearly sprayed her coffee. Blushing, she looked at the grinning Harley Quinn, disgruntled. She scoured for an answer, but then groaned, giving up. A tiny, reminiscing smile curled the corner of her mouth. “He does.”

A wicked, distorted smirk spread across Harley’s face as she slowly nodded. “I knew it!” she crooned.

“But it still doesn’t mean that I’m actually fond of the whole.. _development_. I don’t fancy the idea of constantly looking over my shoulder and affection is the very least feeling there is. All he wants is.. experiment and strike terror.”

“And what do you want?”

Ada halted for a moment. “I..” She was stumped. “I don’t know.”

Harley shrugged after slurping her milkshake. “Mr. J made me laugh and I liked that. Maybe you let the Doc do what he does ‘cause it excites you.”

Ada fell silent. Harley was painfully right. But what did that make her? A victim to her abuser like Harley Quinn was to Joker? Ada knew Harley insisted what they had was true love, but she also shut her eyes from the toxicity of it all. Was that the same Ada had been doing? No, she did not feel love for the man, the Master of Fear. She was not deluded. But why did she still throw herself at him?

“It’s ‘cause you love his cock.”

Ada’s heart skipped. Had she been thinking out loud? How much had Harley heard? “Did.. I say that out loud?”

“No, but your lips were moving, so I figured you were just tormenting yourself with why, so I gave you my professional opinion.” Harley replied and finished her cold drink.

Ada couldn’t help but let out a tiny laughter at the absurdity of the jester’s answer.

“Feeling better?” Harley asked, standing up and digging out crumbled bills from her pocket. She left them on the counter.

“A little, yes. Thank you.” Ada said with a smile.

“Good. Now I gotta scram, but I’ll see you around. Bye!”

Ada bid her farewell and sighed. Despite her criminal background and quirky behavior, Quinn was actually quite nice. Ada actually did feel a little better now.

“Hey! Where’s my tip?” the waiter suddenly shouted.

Harley, already at the door, turned back with a scatterbrained smile. “Oops, sorry! Here..” she took something from her pocket and threw it to the waiter with a slow curve. “Catch!”

The very moment the thing landed on the elderly lady’s hands, Ada’s eyes shot wide open and she flung herself down behind the counter only seconds before explosion.

Screaming and panic arose, when pieces of flesh and skin spattered all over. Not letting shock take her, the Witch was among the first to run out through the door, where Harley Quinn had long disappeared. The Witch never stopped. She ran straight into the dusk, never looking back, through the rainy streets of Gotham as the city swallowed her.


	9. Possession

As she stepped inside the factory from the cold autumn air, the Doctor immediately stood up from his chair and gestured her to take a seat. “Welcome back, Ms. Geier.” Though temperate, he seemed energetic. “How have you been?”

Nine days had passed. She had barely made a comeback in her quotidian life, concocting her health and beauty products, shipping and dealing drugs. Then, Scarecrow had called her for a checkup. Just for a checkup, nothing more. The Witch knew it was all a big lie, but she arrived to _Huntzinger Seats_ , the old upholstery factory either way. She knew there would be consequences, if she did not agree. She had nearly fallen into believing the Doctor would have left her alone, but she knew this day would come eventually.

The Witch sat down on her previous work chair and shrugged. “Fine, I suppose.” She was not happy to be back here.

“How is business?”

“No need for small talk. Let’s just get this over with.” was her cold answer. She was not in a mood for these interviews.

A trace of amusement was evident in Crane’s voice. “Very well then. Have you experienced any post-symptoms?”

“Some anxiety and mild existential crisis.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“I wasn’t quite sure if things were real or not. Was I actually in my body, when I walked? Were the shadows really there, when I looked over my shoulder?” Even Black Mask had noted the difference about her, but never spoke of it.

“And how long did you, or do you still have these feelings?”

“Not anymore. It took me five days to overcome most of the strain.”

“And do you feel you have fully overcome the fears you had faced during the trial?”

The Witch lowered her brows ever so slightly, knowing Scarecrow would take note if she fabricated an answer. “Not entirely.”

“Interesting..”

A stalking suspicion thickened in the Witch. “I’m not here for just a checkup, am I?”

A dark grin. “No.” His vibrant voice made the Witch’s heart palpitate. “Not in its traditional sense at least, though I do mean to _check_ on you.” he said this as he walked past her to the other side of the table behind the wide computer screens. “I have something for you, but now, I will need you to undress.”

The Witch’s mouth suddenly went dry, when Scarecrow brought a portable gynecological examination chair into view. The apparatus seemed old and rusty. The Witch doubted its sanitation. She swallowed and bit her teeth. She should have expected something like this, but it shocked her nonetheless. Memories of the Riddler’s raunchy devices soared to her mind. “I’d rather not.” she kept her tone as leveled as she could.

When the Doctor had decided a proper place for the chair, facing the desk, he treaded the brakes of the wheels. “This is not a matter of your fancy. Not anymore.” He then fetched a tape recorder from the table. “Remember this?” He pushed the play button and the Witch’s breath paralyzed upon hearing the soundtrack of boisterous moaning – her involuntary vocalizations of pleasure.

“ _Say that you are mine._ _Say that you belong to me.. Say it!_ ” Scarecrow’s voice in the recording was discreetly huffing over her choking noises. “ _I’m yours..! I’m yours! Just please..!_ ” The Witch blushed at hearing herself utter such words, ashamed of never realizing the recorder had filed the whole act at the penthouse. No further persuasion was needed.

A malignant smile contorted the Doctor’s face and he stopped the tape. “So, if you please, remove your clothes and get on the chair. You may leave your mask on.”

The Witch stood up and removed her jacket, never looking back at the Doctor again. Her heart quickening, she unzipped her laced and layered swing dress to uncover her strappy, mesh lingerie. She could sense the Doctor’s inspecting gaze scorching her and she didn’t hesitate to peel herself from all the remaining clothing. Once she was completely nude, the Scarecrow beckoned her to come closer.

She seated herself and her pulse buzzed in her ears the very moment Scarecrow bound each of her wrist with a firm, leather cuff. Her cuffed hands were brought above her head and attached to a shackle. The Witch trembled as he positioned her legs on the stirrups and bound her ankles with a restraint, one by one.

He sighed and brought his hands behind his back, prizing the sight before him in exultation. He spoke solemnly: “From this moment forward, you are to address me as _Doctor_ or _Sir_. Do I make myself clear?”

Disquiet seized the Witch, when concern of what was to come grew stronger. “Yes.. Sir.”

“You are not allowed to wear any type of lingerie upon future sessions to hinder the experiment. Further instructions will follow during examinations as we go and you are to obey each and every one of them. Understood?”

A lump climbed up into the Witch’s throat. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He brought his chair closer and sat down between her hoisted legs. “Now, let’s have a look.” The Witch held her breath, when a cold touch grazed her folds. She watched him carefully inspect her, tracing her flesh with rough fingertips, making her stiffen against her restraints. “No irritation or sores.” She could see a slight shift in his gaze – delight towards her slowly, but surely moistening opening. “You haven’t had any other sexual partners meantime, have you?” he asked, spreading her lower lips with his fingers.

“No, Sir.” was her breathless answer.

“Very good, for now on you shall answer only to me.” He slowly slid two fingers through her gates of tender flesh and the Witch tightened at the dryness of his digits and the curve they made. She held in a whimper as he burrowed her walls, introducing a threatening feeling that he meant every word. Scarecrow pressed his other hand on her lower abdomen, feeling her insides, making the Witch’s toes curl and her hips buckle at the manual inspection. She was almost certain she could have just come by his mere voice and the clinical toying. “Everything feels normal.” he retorted mostly to himself. “Just as tight as ever, very fit. No inflammation or malformation. Desirable responsiveness.”

“Have you broadened your field of expertise or is this just your perception of foreplay?” She slipped.

Then, all of a sudden, he withdrew and gave a light slap upon her heating crotch, deadening the growing arousal. Her knees striving for each other, she hissed at the maltreatment. “Fuck!” she whispered and now knew she needed to keep her retorts to herself.

“Do not question my methods.” the Doctor told with another slap and left her side to fetch a plastic package from the table.

The Witch took a deep breath to desist the sting. “Will you at least tell me what this checkup is about?” The Witch shivered as a bright blue string of silicon-covered balls were pulled out. The string dangled obscenely from the Doctor’s hand, taunting her, as he tossed the package aside.

“I have been concocting a special formula just for you.” he told as he examined the string of balls, glancing at her exposed privates, perfectly laid in offer. The Witch very well knew what was going to happen next. She felt she wasn’t mentally ready for such discipline that was assumedly about to follow in due time. “Since previous experimentation upon you proved successful, we shall go _deeper_.”

The Witch shifted in her seat.

“This is for you.” he told as he approached her with a bottle of lubricant in his other hand. “You are to wear it regularly.” He sat down to squeeze out the slippery substance upon his fingers. “Twenty-four hours trice a week should suffice.” Placing his contraptioned palm on her abdomen, he brought his lubed fingers to her labia to smear her thoroughly. He then brought the first ball to her slit. The Witch’s waist stretched thin, when she inhaled. “Let’s give it a try.” The ball slipped in and the Witch trembled. Another went in, and the third. When the fourth was finally in and only the pull-string was left hanging outside, Scarecrow, with his eyes ablaze, looked at her, examining as he stood up. “How do you feel?”

She wanted to say like a stuffed turkey, but she knew it would only ensue trouble. She didn’t quite know what to answer, so she decided on: “Nervous.”

“And?”

She blushed. “Aroused.”

“Because?”

Humiliation brewed in her. “Because I’m not sure what to expect next.”

“That’s right, Witch.” Scarecrow leaned in. “You cannot anticipate, when it will be pain..” The Witch winced, when he suddenly flicked her clit. “ ..and when pleasure. And sooner than you think, you won’t be able to tell the difference between fright and arousal.” As he slid a finger over her lower lips, the Witch felt the pellets inside the Ben Wa balls rotate at her writhing. She silently moaned at the curious feeling and the deepening sense of threat. “You are mine to do as I please.” She shivered at the smoothness of his tone and the possessiveness of his words.

The Doctor brought a strap into view. A ball-gag. The promise of more restriction made her fall further into the dreadful spiral of distress. “Please, Doctor.”

He shushed her and grasped her by the jaw, leaning in, his eyes lingering on her mouth as though yearning to swallow her up. “Hush now, pumpkin. You wouldn’t want to displease me, would you? Now, be a good dear and open up.”

The Witch reluctantly yielded and Scarecrow placed the ball between her teeth and fastened the strap behind her head. The gag was uncomfortable as it stretched her jaws.

She watched him take a step back to view her. His wandering gaze weighted her down. Authority shrouded him in air that coiled through his seams and filled the room. He was in control of everything and his power reveled in the gloom of this place.

Taking the recorder from the table, he pushed a button to document: “October 17th, 1:36 pm. Patient notes: Geier, Ada.” He pressed a set of fingers flat under her jawline, against her jugular vein. “Pelvic examination showed no irregularities.” He paused for a moment, before removing his touch. “Pulse seems elevated and the subject displays signs of anxiety. She has been restrained from possible struggle during examination, which, without a doubt, is one cause for her unnerve.”

The Witch flinched at the sound of door suddenly opening far behind her. “Scarecrow, sir, I’m bringing the repo—“ she could not see, who was talking, but the man halted, when he realized what he was witnessing.

Scarecrow closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, seeming irritated as he lowered his head. “Have you ever heard of knocking?” he asked the man further at the door, retaining a sedate tone.

“Sorry, sir. I had no—“

“No matter.” Scarecrow interrupted, his expression now clearing. “But since you’re here..” He gestured the man to approach and the Witch grew terrified. Surely he wasn’t going to invite the man in? “I am conducting an experiment.”

She expressed her protestation vocally, but the ball-gag suffocated most of the sound. She felt like all air escaped her lungs as realization dawned her – she was going to be showcased like an exhibit of depraved intentions. This was absolutely not what she had expected.

A tall, burley man in Militia uniform appeared into her sight from behind, clad in a bulletproof vest, a handgun and supply pouches. She struggled in her bounds, when Scarecrow turned to her. “Tell me, do you find her appealing?” he addressed the man and stepped to the Witch’s right side, touching her collarbone.

The Witch felt shame as the man scanned her spread nudity with his eyes. She could feel his lingering gaze tingle her skin and although his mouth was covered with a scarf, there was a distinct, yet barely visible motion, as though he was licking his lips. It made the Witch feel dirty and uncomfortable. “Yes, sir.” he finally answered with a coarse voice.

Pleading, the Witch narrowed her eyes and moaned silently, when Scarecrow gently seized her right breast. “Do you find her body.. for lack of a better word, _fuckable_?” Her whole body went cold by the last underlined word as Scarecrow brushed her skin with his fingertips.

Elation was audible in the man’s voice. “I do, sir!”

A sly grin spread across Scarecrow’s face. “Go ahead. Touch her.”

The man didn’t think twice, when he reached for the Witch’s left breast, grasping it roughly like modeling clay with his leather-clad hand. The Witch was mortified. She cried and turned to the Doctor, shaking her head as he watched her with a cold stare, noting her reaction to the man’s kneading. She tried to beg, but her attempt fell to deaf ears. She battled against the shackles and shook her head harder, but the Doctor only stared, taking all too much pleasure in her humiliation. The groping of her breast was nearly hurtful, much too eager and too cack-handed compared to Scarecrow’s touch. What the Militia man lacked in finesse he excelled in enthusiasm.

When tears started rolling, the Doctor suddenly spoke: “That’s enough.”

The man removed his hand like touching the Witch had suddenly burned him.

Scarecrow waved a hand. “Leave us. I’ll have the reports tomorrow morning.” The Witch never unlocked her eyes from Scarecrow as she, relieved, listened heavy steps exit the facilities. She breathed heavily, when the Doctor brought the needles of his wrist contraption to her chest, the syringes extending like claws of glass and steel. “Subject expressed high tension upon the touch of a stranger.” he spoke to the recorder. “Not the first time she has shown embarrassment to being seen in a derogatory state.”

The Witch trembled by the light scraping of her skin that traced curves as they slowly went down, inspiring anxiety. Dangerously scratching at her belly, the Doctor’s eyes pierced her fragile soul. “Did you find it arousing to have that man touch you? Would it excite you if I ordered a complete stranger to have his way with you?” The needles retracted into standby position and the scraping was replaced by Scarecrow’s darkened nails grazing over her porcelain mound.

The Witch shook her head.

“No? Well then..” he crooned and slid a finger over her folds. “Now you know one of the ways I will punish you for disobedience. Understood?”

Nodding, she frowned as he seduced her jewel of nerve-endings, making her inner muscles clench around the Ben Wa balls. The Doctor also tugged at the cord that peeked out through her curtains and she twined by the sensation of the balls moving, but never exiting.

“Admittedly, I do have a taste for a petit fight, but I am not about extreme humiliation. But if humiliation is what makes you _quiver_ in fear..” He never finished his sentence, neither did he stop teasing her, pulling at the string-hoop that he had strapped around his index finger and sliding his soaked middle finger all over slit. What a strange sensation beguiled her awakening lust.

Feeling like she was about to burst, the Witch was overwhelmed by frustration at the sudden stop of Scarecrow’s fiddling. He crossed his arms and brought the back of a hand under his chin, seeming exceedingly conceited at her interrupted buildup. She trembled at the haunting edge as he stared. “Not so soon, pumpkin.” he murmured. “You shall have your climax, when you have my permission.”

And without warning, she peaked, just barely, the orgasm only a faint, nigh dissatisfying shudder, but an orgasm nonetheless. She exhaled heavily and was flustered. Scarecrow’s expression turned sour.

He sighed in dismay and stopped recording. After leaving the recorder on the table he reached for her shackles. “Get up.” The Witch sat up weakly, when her handcuffed arms were freed of the chain and the Scarecrow yanked open her leg restraints. “Up!” he roared and she quickly slid herself off the chair only to be pushed away from the desk area. Upon turning her to face him, his next demand declared: “Now squat. Spread your legs and put your hands behind your head.”

‘ _I’m sorry._ ’ she tried to stutter through the gag, nearly inaudibly.

“Do as I say.”

The Witch complied and awkwardly crouched, carefully placing the balls of her feet for balance and brought her cuffed hands behind her head. The position was demeaning and made an uncomfortable curve to her cavity around the Ben Wa balls. She started fearing they would involuntarily slip out.

She smothered a whimper upon witnessing a riding crop in Scarecrow’s tight grip. “Let this be a lesson about self-control.” And he gave her inner thigh a smack, which made her legs twitch at the pain that stung her skin. She squealed at another slap that was slightly harder than the first one, her left heel thumping against the floor, setting her fight for balance. The more Scarecrow kept slapping at her thighs the more her knees came closer together. “Keep your legs open.” he instructed.

The Witch, repositioning, found it hard to keep the balls from slipping as they rotated at each flogging that followed. She could not help but cry out at the continual slapping of leather against flesh. She was now hugging her head with her arms. She didn’t think she could hold the balls in much longer.

Suddenly, the crop halted its slapping and came to her crotch, sliding up and down along her slit, making the Witch moan and writhe. “I recommend you keep them inside.” And then, he started gently whipping her clitoris to test her will to do whatever she was told.

She cried. Her legs burned from pain and exhaustion. She stiffened every part of her body to not give in, grinding her teeth against the gag and hardening her mind to keep herself from tumbling over. The slapping wasn’t particularly harsh, but all too disruptive for her mind and body to handle.

And sooner than she thought the whipping ceased. “Very good. Now undo my trousers.” was his next command.

The Witch, fearing for more genitorture, quickly attacked Scarecrow’s belt with shaky hands. The belt came loose swiftly, but she seemed to struggle with the button.

“Do pick up your pace, Witch.” he urged as he unfastened her ball-gag.

The Witch did as she was told, only partially relieved of the gag’s absence, as she knew her jaws would be stretched much further. When she finally managed to pull out his member, knowing what his next command would be, she started gently sucking at the tip while winding her fingers around the shaft, earning a pleased sigh. “That’s the spirit.”

She licked the corona of his glans to please his hardening cock, to provoke engorging the best she could. Fingers crept into her hair in an approving manner. She took a glance up at him to see his mauled, maliciously delighted face watch her oral laboring. “That’s it. Swallow me whole.”

The Witch slid her lips over his full length, gliding her tongue along his potent member to engulf him, feeling his nails dig into her scalp. A satisfied groan resounded in her ears, when he suddenly grasped her head with each hand and pushed himself deeper in her mouth, making her gag with a whimper. The vigorous pumping obstructed her breathing, so she fortified her sucking in foolish attempt to slow him down, but judging by the heated body language the act only seemed to invigorate him. She pushed him by his thighs to pull out and gasp for air, but Scarecrow rudely thrusted himself back in. “Suck me, Witch!” he growled, only slightly loosening his grip to let her carry on her work. “Fellate me with that serpentine tongue.”

The Witch bobbed her head, laving his cock, her jaws and lips aching by the mere girth of him. Clutching the base of his member, deepening the blowjob, she could hear him groan in pleasure, which was oddly satisfying to hear. She kept rolling the ball of her tongue ring over his cock, until he suddenly hissed: “Stop.”

His phallus withdrew with a silent _pop_ and the Witch looked up to see his contorted face as he breathed deep, his heavy hands on her shoulders. She found it peculiar to see his eyes closed, chin lowered to his collarbone, full of concentration. A tiny drop of pre-ejaculation was barely evident on his tip and the Witch could not help but wonder if he had a controlled orgasm.

The Doctor shuddered and finally straightened. “Very good.” he sighed and hid himself. “Now stand up and get back on the examination chair.”

Her legs ached as she stood, almost betraying her, but she swiftly hopped on the chair, nearly relieved to sit again. But the feeling of easement was far gone the soon Scarecrow left the crop and gag on the table and restrained her once more.

He sighed deeply and put the recorder on again. He took a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “1:56 pm. The subject needed to be _chastised_ for disobedience, but I believe we may now carry on the.. inspection.” He was back to his cold, observing and analytical self. “Tell me, Ms. Geier, how many sexual partners have you had in the passing year?” he began his query as he stepped to her right side.

“Two.” Restrained and nowhere to go, she couldn’t be any more vulnerable.

Bringing both of his hands to her left breast, he began palpating her. “Assuming one of them is me, who the other one might be?”

The rubbing of her breast made the small chain of her nipple ring sway. The touch was clinical, yet quite sensual compared to the crude groping of the Militia man. “You know who it was.” Scarecrow shot a glare at her and she knew not to have that attitude in her position. “It was the Riddler.”

The Doctor was quick and thorough as he started feeling her other breast. Yet, she doubted his qualifications in physical examination, as he was a doctor of the mind. “And, as you have stated before, your involvement with him was purely sexual, correct?” he asked, before he stopped the examination and returned to his chair. “No irregularities to the subjects breasts.” he noted to the recorder.

“Yes.” the Witch answered his question truthfully.

The knowing sneer returned to his hideous features. He slid his chair closer to bring his syringed hand to her thigh. The Witch inhaled as the touch traveled closer to her nether regions. “Have any of your past relations ever involved _unconventional_ scenarios? Be truthful.”

She pursed her lips, denying the creeping arousal, when the Doctor grazed her labia minora on the sly. “Only some roleplaying, light bondage and blindfolds.” The Witch gasped, when a thumb brushed over her exposed clitoris.

Scarecrow lowered his head, his eyes dark and demanding. “Anything else?”

She shivered at his guttural voice and the soft caressing of her labia. “I also have been involved in BDSM activities of sorts.”

“Of sorts?” A thumb ran across her hot slit up and down ever so slowly, and Scarecrow seemed content of her slipperiness. She knew he was well aware she was referring to the Riddler’s atrocities.

The Witch’s mind grew blurrier the more he rubbed. “It was his means to extort me into doing his bidding.” She held in a moan at the return of the tugging of the Ben Wa ball string.

“And do you.. feel extorted now?”

She clenched the chain of her cuffs. “I don’t know.” she whimpered.

“I am not forcing you to do my bidding. You are paid for your contribution and.. _donating_ your body for scientific experiments. Do remember that.”

The Witch wrothe as she felt nearing her edge again, her chest heaving in anticipation. “Yes, Sir.” She wasn’t quite sure did she respond to his reply or to encourage him to further his manual engagement. She almost cried out in impatience, when it all came to a sudden stop, leaving her craving pussy disgruntled and disregarded. She huffed in irritation while the Scarecrow sat back, folding his hands upon his lap smugly. In her mind, the Witch cursed him with every possible word in every possible language she knew.

”When was the last time you masturbated?”

Her cheeks hot and tears fogging her eyes, the Witch returned a cold stare. “A couple of weeks ago.”

She knew he estimated her answer to set place around the time, when she had been tasked for the last improvements of the oil-based fear toxin. The complacent sneer made her want to vomit. She only wished that morbid face would just rush into her opening, scour her womanhood with that adept tongue and drain her of this wretched desire. “For stress relief, I presume?”

“Yes.” she sighed.

“Do you often seek to control your stress with self-pleasuring?”

If only the Witch had the powers of Superman she would tear her legs free from their bondage and kick Scarecrow’s ugly face. The desire to surrender to his lecherous will was equal to her want to cripple him. “Sometimes.” she answered regardless.

“What toys did you use, if any?” What a correct and businesslike way to ask.

“None.” The Witch kept her tongue from not retorting how she was going to use him as a toy and tear him apart like a ragdoll once she was freed from these restraints. Not before now she noted her mind clearing since stimulation had ceased.

The soon she had finished the thought, lust began clouding her head again as the Doctor returned to her by running his fingers through her hot flesh, smearing his digits with her genital salivation as he gently raked her opening. She twitched at the sliminess of his slithering touch in perplex how strong the arousal returned. Her excitement was building up again as he spoke to the recorder: “Subject exhibits immediate responsiveness to prolonged denial of satisfaction.” His eyes met hers, and there was a distinct slyness to his grin. His observation begged the question of what wicked things he had in store for her. It could not only be the excruciating carnal disallowance that the Doctor intended to drive her insane with.

He stopped the recording and scooted up closer, now resting his palms on her thighs and addressing her: “I’m going to go down on you. You are still not permitted to climax. Do you understand?” The emphasis in his words was severe.

He did not wait for an answer, when he already attacked her womanliness with his wondrous tongue slithering over her precious clit in seductive depravity that sent her senses in an aching bundle. She cried out and tensed against her bounds at the feeling of the all too familiar tongue sliding and rolling and the crooked teeth minutely grinding against her flesh, his face shadowed by the thick hood, neatly concealing the sight of his oral inspection. The Witch hated to admit how much she had longed to have him devour her, and she knew that was precisely what he had been going for.

She couldn’t take such torment of everlasting tease and denial. The tickling sensation inside that surely was to be snatched away from her once more was so overwhelming she didn’t think she could be able to let go. “Please, Doctor!” the Witch huffed. “Starve out this agony!”

She whimpered, when Scarecrow lifted his head to see her. “I am the one giving orders here.” he remarked. His jaw was wet from saliva and her lubricants. “You are to have your release, when I see fit.”

When his mouth returned to ravish her, the Witch struggled to maintain her responsiveness as minimal as possible and just below the critical point of no return, but Scarecrow did not make it easy. The tugging of the Ben Wa string making a comeback, an enticing sensation overwhelmed her whole lower region as one of the balls slipped out. The Witch threw her head back as the second ball was slowly being drawn out, the unparalleled tonguing never abandoning her. Her back arched the moment the third one got out. “I can’t.. I-I’m coming..!”

She cried in ruins, when Scarecrow abruptly stopped his licking and dug his nails into her right buttock, leaving her hanging in balance upon the fine thread of displeasure and satisfaction. The Doctor seemed to have no intention in ending her misery as he gave a brusque slap at her crotch. His eyes exhibited a dark delight towards her scathing frustration – schadenfreude.

The final ball popped out and Scarecrow held the string of slimy pearls in plain view. What a debauched sight it was, when he took a short lick at the balls! He then placed the string on a small, silver tray on the table as he stood up.

The Witch was flustered. Her body itched for release so much it almost hurt. The very sight of Scarecrow was repulsive, draped in air of utter control and he savored every moment of it.

“So here we are, once more.” he finally spoke, the needles of his wrist gadget stretching out. “You – cut open and laid bare in this sacrificial altar. Me..” He inhaled ever so slightly like the mere thought was bringing him exceeding thrill. He brought the needles to his face in his usual, temperate, theatrical way in an expression of unfeigned exhilaration. “..to claim your atonement.” Gingerly, he placed himself close between her legs, leaning down towards her. The Witch held her breath, when he touched her breast. He stared straight into her. “See you on the other side.”

The Witch howled when sharp needles punctured her left buttock and, upon immediate injection, Scarecrow’s whole being was engulfed in black smoke that coiled from beneath his clothes, warping his body into a rotten state, his clothes now robed and shredded in black. The Witch gasped as she witnessed horns growing upon his head, lengthening, furcating into tall antlers. She grew weak at the imposing sight as Scarecrow, now transformed into a nightmarish creature, a living corpse, unbuckled his trousers to bring his vicious cock at her yearning sex.

Guiding with his bony, ashen fingers, he seductively slid his member over her folds slowly to smear himself with her wetness, before meticulously entering her for an inch, making the Witch flex at his girth that seemed to stretch her insides more than usual. The Witch struggled and curled against her shackles, letting out a whimpering noise of discomfort.

An amused sigh of awareness. “Ah, how unexpected..” his voice was gravelly and demonic. Scarecrow carefully exited her only to try again and was again blocked by the tightness that was her pussy. The Witch squirmed and squeaked at the force that pushed at her walls. Scarecrow pulled out again. “Seems you have grown tighter than I remembered.” He seemed thoroughly fascinated. He pushed himself in, now a little further, making tears stain the Witch’s lace mask. “Allow me to enter and you shall not come to any harm.” he spoke solemnly as though conducting an incantation.

She inhaled, when Scarecrow began a careful, deliberate pumping in which his cock slipped further and further in after each thrust, his emaciated, skeletal hands gripping her flesh to aid his persistent penetration. “I’m your Doctor, your healer. Let me in now and I’ll be your savior.” His voice echoed throughout the hall and bounced off the walls in its deep, sonorous tone.

The Witch’s jaw dropped in a mute scream, when he finally squeezed himself all the way in with an enraptured groan, his black tongue snaking out of his mouth like a fat, slimy leech, his pale eyes fixed on hers to underline the enormity of the pleasure and exultation he took by fucking her. “Fuck!” she sputtered at the slow but determinate pumping introduced to her poor pussy. Slowly, but surely, she was growing accustomed to his inconceivably, atypically stately girth. A less agonizing pressure replaced the breathtaking pang. It persuaded insatiable carnal need. The horridness of Scarecrow’s mutation inspired a sense of suspense.

Thoroughly craving for more, the Witch shifted and turned, her fingers in tight fists and her toes curling. “You’re so big..!” and she immediately blushed for saying that, ashamed for uttering such silly, lewd words. It was like she had momentarily entered a pornographic snuff film and it disgusted her.

Hearty and guttural laughter roared and made the Witch shiver all over. “Do you think so?” Scarecrow laughed, his perpetual grin of death straining the stitching of his mouth so severely that a few of the poke marks started bleeding dark, thick blood. His thrusting grew vigorous, but kept the leisured pace. “Are you certain it is not you, who has grown tighter? Have you been _exercising_?”

The Witch shivered again. The penetrations, though deliciously exciting her bundle of nerves, disregarded any clitoral stimulation that she so desperately needed. Before she even came up with an answer, she was startled by a sudden blare of door opening and closing. Beneath the noises of sexual squelching, heavy footsteps resounded and two figures appeared, standing at each side of the Doctor, who kept his intense, overpowering attention on her. She felt like choking on her own heartbeat as the figures watched her and the obscene arrangement she had been broken into. They silently watched, their burning gaze gleaming white through the deer skulls they wore upon their faces.

“No!” she cried as both of the figures reached their hands from beneath their black robes out towards her. She felt numb all over, save for Scarecrow’s forceful banging, his tight grip and the pair of extra hands that gently and proficiently caressed her thighs. Panicky and discombobulated, the Witch’s gaze shifted between the two strangers as they approached, their touches never leaving her skin but painting her all over with their dark, pointy fingertips adorned with sharp claws. The touches trailed her curves, stealthily brushed her breasts. “You said you weren’t about humiliation!” she cried, but Scarecrow merely tilted his head.

The demonic figure at her left wound his long fingers about her throat as the other’s careful touching never left her right breast. The Witch gasped as the right creature revealed a sizeable knife in his other hand. “Stop it!” she pleaded the tall creature, but it wouldn’t listen. “Please, Doctor, tell them to stop!”

Scarecrow was chuckling as he leaned in to have his thrusts go deeper, his pubic bone just barely brushing the Witch’s precious clit, much too lightly for her taste. She held her breath as he brought himself closer to whisper: “It’s alright, pumpkin. Accept this horrendous act. It is my gift to you.” When he drew back, he finally delivered her much desired clitoral stimulation by capricious brushing of a thumb, sweeping her nub with sluggish, yet skilled strokes that drove her into a fit of delectation.

She sighed desperately, thinking the masked creatures wouldn’t do her harm and even avert their eyes if she complied with Scarecrow’s dominance, his possession, but they never left his side. She was abased to have witnesses to her spiraling subordination, her becoming a slave to this alpha creature known as the Master of Fear. She trembled at the relentless touching and the knife that gently played at her skin, making only light scrapes, never piercing through. The fear of hurt yet haunted her even with the celestial pleasure filling her core and calling forth satisfaction most exquisite.

The skulls of the creatures were now close to her. She could feel their breaths at her face as they kept fondling her in a nigh amorous way, adoring the every inch of her flesh, while the monstrous Scarecrow idolized the enchantment of her offering, reaping the crops of her lust-struck field of delirium. The pressure deep within condensed and she couldn’t help but cry out: “Let me come!”

She shrieked in terror and her building peak came crushing down and dying, when Scarecrow had suddenly pulled out a gun and fired a round right by her left side. Beastly noise lacerated her eardrums as one of the watchers fell to the floor and the other one shied away from her sight. Hysteria took over, when Scarecrow swiftly unshackled her. She felt helpless and weak, when he tore her from the chair and threw her face down against the table, holding her down by the neck. “Please, no more!” she screamed. “It’s too much!”

A harsh slap came in contact with her ass and she winced, oddly aroused by the maltreatment. She flinched as her pussy was brutally rammed from behind. In a panicky attempt to struggle, she kept crying and thrashing, but she was quickly splayed across the grand table. Another slap hurt her rear end. And another as she screamed: “You can’t do this to me!” She whimpered, when he pushed himself all the way in, hurtfully smashing into her cervix to induce pain.

“We are not finished yet.” he groaned and began penetrations so deep and agonizing that the Witch needed to tiptoe to prevent further hurt. “You are slipping.” Scarecrow typed a few keys on the keyboard and the computer screen flashed alive before the Witch’s very eyes. “Remember, who is in charge.”

She was flushed by the live video feed on the screen, the webcam capturing the obscene tyranny laid upon her with Scarecrow staring right into her as he plowed her in ferocious fervor. “Do not ever forget that only I am in possession of your hot, _juicy_ pussy.” He smacked his lecherous tongue at her, swaying his head in adoration. “If you ever so much as think of giving yourself up to another man’s thrall..” With malice aforethought, Scarecrow grasped her throat to pull her upright to the support of her forearms, forcing her to view their raunchy act on the screen that now served as a mirror. “Rest assured I will _fuck_ that attitude out of you.” His husky voice established lavish appetite to ruin her and he seemed more putrid than before.

His right hand snaked between her legs to tease at her desolate pussy and she frightfully spread her aching legs to prevent the perilous needles from piercing her inner thighs. The hasty fingering cast a charming bliss upon the Witch and she buckled violently, drooling as she watched her horned violator working on her long awaited build-up. “Please, Doctor.” her voice broke as she whispered.

Scarecrow’s hot white, gleaming eyes set her aflame and a pleased grimace distorted his face, his mask and skin deteriorating as he intensified her pleasuring. “You have my permission to come.”

And at that very instant the Witch peaked and she came with a violent jolt, clamping and spasming around him as the anticipated orgasm seized her, smothered her, bursting deep within. It felt like the longest orgasm she had ever had. Scarecrow sped up his fucking to fulfill his own need and soon he released his hot seeds with a beastly groan, burying deep and toppling over her, the sight of his gratification making her shiver.

The tender plucking of her clit waned, but never left, when Scarecrow huffed against her ear, still inside her, and the Witch suddenly felt like she was nearing another crescendo. She gasped, astounded by the warmth returning and filling her again. She arched her back against the toxin canisters about Scarecrow’s waist, feeling extraordinarily weak as she wrothe beneath him, her sore and swollen cavity gripping his motionless member.

He seemed remarkably delighted about her reaction as he gave his touch some more pressure, his middle and ring finger forking her clit up and down seductively. She could feel his thick, hot discharge slowly dripping down along her thighs. “F-fuck..! I-I’m coming again!” And she smothered a shriek, when she actually did come again, tossing and flailing, squealing and moaning as she was drained of her vitality, as though her soul had been absorbed by the hideous Doctor, who forcefully made her legs tremble by the compelling fingering. Throbbing and swollen, she clasped her thighs shut to signify her physical inability to carry on as the touches started to hurt.

The Witch’s mind was foggy and she could no longer move as she caught her breath, the warmth of Scarecrow’s body now leaving her. She flinched as he slowly pulled out. The Witch was parched and she felt delirious in her dehydration, she barely was aware of Scarecrow wiping her legs with a rag. She jumped a little, when he gathered her body upon his lap and carried her to the chaise lounge nearby. She felt dizzy as dark spots danced before her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually very proud of this chapter, as you may imagine. 
> 
> Which brings to mind: I'm having the worst writer's block in a later chapter, so I'm open to suggestions for "punishments" and/or ways to manipulate and demean the Witch. Suggestions for scenarios or commands by Scarecrow are much appreciated!


	10. Manacles

And before she knew, a presence scooted beside her, an arm winding under her head and a glass of cold water was brought to her lips. “Drink.” Scarecrow spoke softly.

Her sight started to adjust. _‘Do not drink the milk he brought. Older men bear poison in their hearts.’_ she thought deliriously, much too thirsty to refuse, and sipped of the water that he helped her with. She took another long gulp before shaking her head.

The Doctor placed the glass on the table and petted her warm cheek with his knuckles. It was strange how, all of a sudden and against all instinct, she began to relax. She was pulled to her side, nestled against Scarecrow’s chest. Her bare legs intertwined with his fully clothed ones and her cold, cuffed hands were huddled close to her chest. She did not dare to look at him, afraid of making the slightest motion to displease the Scarecrow.

But he only lay there with her, silently watching her tremble in his lap, tenderly stroking his fingers along her back, tracing her spine. What was with this spontaneous gesture of clemency? The strangeness of it all baffled her. “You have pleased your Master.” he told.

The Witch wrinkled her nose and finally looked up at him. Surely he said that on purpose to agitate her. The pompous look about his skeletal face suggested that he reveled in teasing her, irritating her just so he could crush her down again and again. Undoubtedly he enjoyed having her overstep the limits he had set so he would have an excuse to punish her. What a sick, twisted game he played, and she fell right into it as she told: “I never agreed to your _mastery_ over me.”

Scarecrow raised a brow as he slowly grasped her jaw. His haughty expression froze her. As he stared deep into her, she returned the look as strong as she could despite being utterly terrified inside. The darkness about this place was slowly fading out and there were no more claws to torment her. Scarecrow’s attire seemed like they used to and he no more had antlers, yet he still seemed as disgusting as ever. Finally, just as the Witch felt like she was about to cave in, the Doctor chuckled. “As a matter of fact you did. But if that helps you cope or otherwise braces the _nympho_ in you..”

Subconsciously, the Witch’s eyes narrowed.

Scarecrow shot her a meaningful glare and she coiled.

Pleased, the man sat up and unstrapped her leather cuffs. “You may get dressed.” he stated coldly and left her side.

The Witch’s arms trembled as she sat up. Her gaze immediately focused on the gynecological chair. What a disgusting apparatus, she thought, and noted the absence of a body. Her brows knitted. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but it struck her as astonishing that the robed, skull-faced men had not been real. The ritual assistants, the acolytes – they were a delusion.

Standing up proved to be much more difficult than she had anticipated. Her mind ordered herself to rise, but her feet refused.

Scarecrow was typing on his computer, no doubt documenting the session. The Witch cleared her throat discreetly.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his gaze fixated on the screen.

A lot of things were wrong, but she knew she needed to hold her tongue from sarcasm. “I can’t stand up. I feel faint.”

The Doctor fetched her a blanket to envelop it around her. “Are you hungry? Would you care for some takeout? I know a good Sichuan place. My treat.”

Despite the hint of nausea that haunted the bottom of her stomach, the Witch was starving. She nodded meekly.

Scarecrow returned to his seat to take a call through his computer. A Militia answered only after two rings. “ʏᴇꜱ, ꜱɪʀ?”

“I am entertaining a guest. I need you to bring us two portions of Yuxiang beef with eggplant and fried noodles on the side from _Hua Wu_.”

Hesitation. “ꜱɪʀ?”

For a peculiar reason, the Witch found Scarecrow’s prestige intriguing. “It is of utter importance. You wouldn’t want to upset my honored guest, would you?”

“ɴ-ɴᴏ, ꜱɪʀ. ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴜᴘ, ꜱɪʀ. ᴛᴡᴏ.. ᴜʜʜ..”

“Yuxiang beef with eggplant and fried noodles.”

“ʀᴏɢᴇʀ, ꜱɪʀ.”

The Witch reached for the water glass with both hands, when Scarecrow ended the call. She barely managed to take a sip and quickly put the glass back on the table in fear she would drop it on the floor.

“While we wait..” Scarecrow slid closer to her on his office chair with the recorder in his hand. “How about a final conclusion for today’s session?”

The Witch shrugged. She was too tired to argue. Apathy riddled her. She crossed her legs under her thighs and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, cocooning for warmth.

“2:32 pm. End of session. How do you feel, Ms. Geier?”

“Light-headed and physically weak from neck down.”

“And mentally?”

Mere words weren’t enough to describe the discord in her head. “Distraught.. It’s disheartening to be unable to know for sure what’s real.” she spoke softly to not let her voice crumble.

“Can you describe me what happened during this session from where I injected you? Spare no details.”

The Witch rather not, but saw no other option. “You transformed into, if you’ll pardon the expression..” Scarecrow nodded, approving her manners. “a more rotted state. Monstrous. And you grew large antlers on your head.”

Scarecrow’s eyes brightened.

“Then you..” The Witch cleared her throat. “I’m not sure if I imagined it, but you spoke to me as if conjuring, when you had trouble.. _entering_ me.“

“It is a tight space.” he smirked, leaving the Witch wide open to the question had he spoken to her after the delusions had taken over or not.

The Witch felt an urge to hide herself under the woolen blanket. “Then, after a while, two men came in and stood by your side. At least I think they were men. They wore black robes and deer skull masks. They were.. watching.. and touching. One of them had a knife.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Scared and humiliated. Also angry, because you have made it painfully clear that you don’t want to share me with anyone.”

He shrugged, dismissing the bitterness in her words. “Maybe I lied, maybe I didn’t. What you experienced was a form of scopophobia – fear of being seen or stared by others. In your case, being seen in a degrading state. Have you experienced public ridicule as child?”

The Witch pursed her lips. “Not that I recall anything specific. I mean, you know how I dress in public, I’m used to the attention.” Before the Doctor could respond, she added: “Granted, any a therapist would associate it as my means to shelter myself – to seem stronger than I really am, but no. It’s just my means to be me.”

“What about ridicule by peers or superiors?”

The Witch frowned, considering the worth of falsehood, until she came up with an answer: “Now you are just mining for an answer you want to hear. Yes, I have indeed experienced _embarrassment_ both in public and in private. Everyone _has_ in some point of their lives, but that does not make each and everyone scopophobic. If it is public _sexual_ humiliation you are inquiring, yes, the thought terrifies me, but I have not experienced anything of the sort before.”

Silence seized the moment, where the Witch stared right into the Doctor’s eyes. What was going on in that dreadful head of his? Was he trying to suggest her into fearing things she had never known to fear? Just now, as he was staring back at her, was he looking for the genuineness of her words or just another way to scare her?

Eventually, he sighed. “I see.” He shifted a little in his seat. “Please, carry on. What else did you see during today’s session? What happened next?”

“You shot one of the masked men.”

“Oh?”

She yet again glanced at the floor near the gynecology chair. Still not a trail of blood. The creatures couldn’t have been real. At least one of them. “In a way, I was relieved they let me be after that, but I don’t think the one who was spared ever left after what happened. The threat of being shot myself was not pleasant either.”

Scarecrow nodded. “Understandable. Is there anything else you would like to add about the session?”

She shook her head. “No, although I would like to remind you that I haven’t filed these sessions into my list of favorite things.”

The Doctor lifted his chin ever so slightly. “Never? Has anything changed as of today?”

The Witch went cold inside.

“I detect an incomplete thought in your words. Is there a shift in your views?”

The Witch knew she was curling up into denial. She hated being afraid, of constantly being on her toes, but at the same time.. the exceptional thrill made her fall into a trance that left her speechless from both terror and carnal satisfaction. Scarecrow knew this, didn’t he? He must have.. didn’t he? “No. Never.” she spoke earnestly. She stood behind her words, because it was the truth. She only omitted the fact about her growing addiction. She wouldn’t let him have it.

“Very well then. How about the overall sexual experience? Was it different in comparison to previous sessions? Any level of change in tension?”

The Witch wrinkled her nose, snorting, reluctant to answer. “It was.. yes, more intense than before.”

“How?”

“The visions were different. There was a new sensation of oppression, like my whole body was quietly shutting down from my control and.. the whole denial thing brought the uneasiness into a new plane.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The Witch frowned. “How?”

“It shows that my cocktail worked the way I intended. Now there is only fine-tuning left to do.”

A sleuthing discomfort teemed in the Witch. Nervously, she scratched the skin above her left breast, wondering if there was something more diabolical than just fear toxin in what Scarecrow had injected her with. Then, a thought occurred to her. “You didn’t need me to improve your toxin, did you?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I’ve read your file. You are an excellent chemist. It wasn’t that big of a deal to produce an oil-based version of your toxin. If anyone could’ve done the same, it would have been you.”

The Doctor raised a brow, inhaling deep. His gaze was unreadable for a moment, until a tiny smile was distinguishable. The look was almost gentle and it scared the Witch. “But of course I couldn’t have done it without you. You provided me with a new outlook. You see..” He leaned in, resting his elbows against his knees and crossing his fingers. “I have been swamped with a project on bringing Gotham to her knees. In process, a selection of people will suffer in particular. I won’t bore you with the details, but do know that your contribution was imperative.”

The Witch swallowed a lump. “ _Was_?” For some reason, she didn’t even want to know the _how_.

“And still is. If it wasn’t for you, I might have never come up with the idea, nor would I have had the time to actually fabricate that very idea into its concrete form. And now, after your variation of the toxin is complete, we may resume to what we once started – to anatomize that _ardor_ of yours when at the feet of apprehension.”

The Witch almost laughed out loud at him using the word _we_. “So I’m a hobby to you?”

He smirked again. “That makes it sound derogatory, don’t you think? No, you are not a mere hobby. You are my patient. A patient, who contributes to my research and, as an added benefit, aids me to.. _unwind_.” The Witch felt chills. “Apart from that it is safe to assume that you too find these sessions beneficial in someway or the other.”

He was right. She was paid handsomely and the culmination of each session had been most pleasurable. But at what cost? Day after day she felt more bereft and downright zombified than before. She was high-strung and alert, never certain what could pop out from each corner as she walked through the streets of Gotham. The line between reality and delusion had been corroded. “Have you often indulged in advancing on your patients?”

Scarecrow seemed slightly offended by the direct question as he leaned back in his chair. “What makes you think that?”

“Given your passion with fear I don’t think it’s quite far-fetched you would have made use of your patients’ disorderly state to, as you put it, unwind.”

The Doctor snorted. “Do you think of me a predator?” Dramatically, he pressed a hand against his chest. “I am a Doctor – it is not my place to get involved with a patient, unless absolutely necessary for the advantage of my work. I assure you, no patient of mine has ever been in as beneficial and venerate position as you. Me accepting you as a noteworthy case for research – you should consider it as great esteem. Not a single soul has ever been as valued as you.”

Wickedness. His honeyed words were absolute venom. The Witch nearly felt bad for questioning his methods, but the glint in his eye concealed nightmares. What deceitful things to say, while she knew it was all suggestions to tarnish her sanity.. “How do you mean I’m in a _venerate_ position?”

Scarecrow’s eyes narrowed and the stitching of his mouth tightened. “You haven’t come to any harm by anyone else, have you? In due time you will see. The Militia officer – he only followed orders and stopped, when he was told, like a dog. The Riddler – he will eschew you like plague..”

The Witch felt her throat tighten. Suspicion arose. “You.. have met with him?”

Scarecrow nodded deeply. “Indeed I have.”

The Witch frowned. “And?”

“Well, if you must know, he came to me one night aggrieved and worse for wear. He still grievously considered you his vassal.”

“What did you tell him?”

He shrugged. “I simply had him abandon such thoughts. For everyone’s sake, most especially his.”

The Witch shivered at the thought of Scarecrow and Riddler having such conversation toe to toe. Remembering Riddler’s temper, she was certain of the possibility of violence, no matter how hard Edward insisted he fought with only wits. Also, the Witch suspected fear toxin had played a part in the meeting.

“He will never bother you again.”

She swallowed as her insides churned. Relief was overpowered by unease. The Riddler’s departure from the picture did not take away the foreboding dread. Something felt horribly off.

Knocking on the door startled the Witch and Scarecrow stopped the recording. “That must be our dinner.” He answered the door, paid the Militia for his troubles and brought the food to the table for consumption. They ate in complete silence. The Witch was so starved that she nearly didn’t take note on how delicious the food was. It was also intriguing to see the Scarecrow eat – for lacking decent lips (and cheeks for that matter), he was surprisingly capable of feeding himself with ease. The bites were small enough to fit through the stitches. It didn’t seem to bother him, but must have been quite a skill to get used to.

The Witch was starting to feel better, when the bottom of her oyster pail started revealing itself. Strength was returning to her limbs. She left a couple of noodle strands and a piece of eggplant uneaten, when she was finished with eating. “Thank you for the meal.” she said and stood up with relative ease.

Scarecrow nodded and finished his serving as well. “You’re welcome.” As the Witch retrieved her clothes, he continued: "You may leave now, but the next session will be a little different.”

“Different how?” she asked as she slipped into her dress.

“You will accompany me in a meeting the day after tomorrow. You shall wear a tight, formal dress and nothing underneath except for these.” He gestured the string of blue balls that he collected from the silver platter they had been left on. He hid them back in their plastic casing.

Adjusting the ruffled collar of her dress, the Witch furrowed her brows and stepped into her boots. “Why do you need me at this meeting?”

Scarecrow handed her the package. “For company.”

The Witch’s eyes narrowed as she put the package inside her bag.

Scarecrow let out a soft chuckle. “Is that so hard to believe? Very well, it will be an experiment in a social situation. _An exercise_ , if you will.”

Figures. The Witch didn’t quite fancy the idea of a _social exercise_.

“Also, I want you to wear this.”

The Witch swallowed down her heart, when Scarecrow presented her an oblong, black, velvet box. “Jewelry?” she mumbled out loud, taking the box to open it. A black, wide leather leash rested upon a velvety pillow. There was also a tiny, silver plate attached to the collar. The plate was engraved with his symbol.

“You are to wear it during social events and when you go on about your days – every time you go outside. Starting now.”

The gesture was most suspicious. Surely it was not only to evince the world of his ownership but also to entice her with gifts. “What for?” she questioned anyway.

The Doctor stood up and took the leash in his hands. The Witch bundled up her hair as he fastened the leash about her neck. “So that my men and everyone else will know not to lay a finger on you. So that they will not touch even a single strand of your hair without consequences.”

The Witch gingerly touched the small plate upon the leash.

“It suits you.”

Her gaze lowered and, without a word, she took her handbag from beside the desk. She wasn’t quite sure what she thought of the alleged gift. She appreciated the thought, but the meaning behind it insulted her.

“ _Osiris Cinema_ the day after tomorrow at twelve in the noon. I expect you to be punctual as usual.”

 

 

Osiris Cinema had once been a high-end movie theater with deluxe interior and a vast variety of classic feature films in addition to the latest productions from all over the world. There was also a museum of posters and memorabilia of old movies throughout history. What once was a prosperous house of cinematic enjoyment for all ages now lay in abandon – condemned below Ryker Heights.

A lady in black approached the theater in her high platform wedge heels, her delectable hips swaying graciously. Crane was pleased by her preciseness. She was on time and dressed as per his instructions. The dress sure was tight as her steps were temperate and short, when she came to him. He noted the collar about her neck. “Glad you could make it.” he remarked and she merely nodded, seriousness surrounding her. “Shall we?”

A guard opened the door and Scarecrow led her inside. Without waste, he led her further in, into the corridor left from the lobby and, when out of sight, he halted and turned to the Witch. She seemed to flinch just slightly by this, but remained bold and self-assured. “Before we go in, an inspection. Put your hands against the wall.”

The Witch furrowed her brows a little as reluctance surged in her, but followed his instruction.

Placing himself behind her, he took a second to admire her lovely waistline that was accentuated by her sophisticated sheath dress and cropped, open-bust jacket. He brought his hands to her thighs to erotically lift the hem of her dress all the way up to her waist. He was pleased to see her fit ass devoid of underwear, exactly as he had told. He uncouthly slid a finger through her folds and received a tiny gasp as he poked at the Ben Wa balls inside her. “Very good.” he murmured contently, leaning in to breath in her scent. Cedar and vanilla? What a peculiar combination. He stole a stifled moan from the Witch as he gently dabbed her clit. What a stirring thought it was to have her in such thrall, where her sinful body was hanging only by a thin thread from humiliation.

Scarecrow inhaled her perfume once more before abruptly rolling down her hem. Her gaze seemed to avoid his, when she turned. “When we go in, you are not to speak unless spoken to. You stand aside and keep a dignified posture throughout the meeting. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her voice was silent, but it was filled with smothered defiance.

He could not help but grin. “Good girl.” He overlooked the Witch’s narrowing eyes, when he turned on his heels to lead her through the corridor and past a corner, where another Militia stood guard by the door to the second hall. It was quite delectable to think what an embarrassment it must have brought to the Witch to know the guard had been within an earshot during his inspection.

Without a word, the guard opened the door and they entered a grand hall. An armed assembly of Militia turned to them. Each eye sternly locked onto them, each face covered by a scarf or a ballistic head protection system, each body clad in tactical gear, armor and firearms. A few gazes shifted between him and the Witch. The theater had been left in a perfect condition. The silver screen on the left was hung down and the carpeted floor was devoid of leftover popcorn and stickiness. Even the endless rows of benches seemed to have never been sat on.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Scarecrow spoke and approached the crowd, while the Witch assumed her place behind him, a few feet away at his left side, separate from the crowd in the background. Scarecrow noted how she paid no attention to the men that kept glancing at her. “I assume everyone is present. As you are the last remaining unit of Arkham Knight’s forces, reinforcement is in order. Your loyalty for the cause is well appreciated and rewarded.” Scarecrow told the men. “Captain Jenner.” he spoke to one of the men. “How are the recruitments coming?”

“Word has been spread to Blackgate inmates. So far, five former members of Anarky’s group have established their interest in contributing to you plan. Also, ten men, who had been known to work for Mad Hatter will start training tomorrow.”

“Excellent. And the testing?”

“Bristol Elementary School went under mass hysteria during lunch time last Monday and the building was evacuated. The incident was filed as a false fire alarm. A selection of elderly have suffered heart attacks and died at the Golden Years retirement home.”

“Very good.”

The meeting carried on with Scarecrow checking on the Witch every now and then. He assumed she was quite bored of the whole occasion, which was his intention exactly. In addition to the importance of this assembly, this occasion also included training in self-control and obedience. For both his men and the Witch. Needless to say it was also a stress exercise on the mind of this patient of his. To see what impact it left on her.

The Witch, on her behalf was contemplating on her involvement in Scarecrow’s plan. She wasn’t quite happy of her variation of the fear toxin being tested on children and elderly, but, for some reason, she wasn’t exactly upset about it either. None of it seemed to matter anymore. What was done was done. Her eyes kept wandering around the place and she was slowly growing tired of just standing still in a gracious posture for such a length of time, until suddenly she was startled by a whisper at her ear. She tried to pay the man no attention, but he kept on insisting. “Psst, hey! Wanna get drinks after this?”

The tall man’s presence behind her made a shiver stab at her spine, but she kept herself poised, watching Scarecrow giving his speech to the rest of the Militia, his hands crossed behind his back, solemnly pacing. “No, thank you.” she answered the man.

Scarecrow tilted his head slightly as he heard whispering behind him in passing, but he never turned around. Knowing a foot soldier had seized opportunity to advance the Witch, he carried on his lecture in sheer curiosity of how the situation played out. “You sure? I can show you a good time.” Scarecrow barely heard.

The Witch’s breath halted as she felt a sneaky grace over the left cheek of her ass. She swallowed and pursed her lips. “Still no. And you’d better keep your hands to yourself.”

She almost gagged, when she felt the presence of the man’s tactical helmet by her ear. He wore way too much cologne. “Watcha gonna do? Hashtag _metoo_  all about it?”

The Witch wanted to spit at his face. Not because of the advancing, but because of his assumption that she would cry out each and every play move as sexual assault. She did not have a victim complex, nor was she a senseless crybaby, who experienced all word spoken by man as harassment. In a way, she pitied him. He was only trying to meet her, but even if his attempt was poorly executed it was also foolish of him to believe his actions would go unnoticed by Scarecrow. “I’m not going to do anything.”

Finally, Scarecrow decided the time had come to end his speech and put a period to that fruitless flirtation. His eyes met the Witch’s. He detected alleviation in her, mixed with a worry about his reaction to see another man drooling over her. “But he is.” he read her lips and calmly approached them.

The grunt jumped back the very moment he was busted. Scarecrow now stood right in front of the Witch, intentionally prolonging the silence that suddenly fell upon the hall. He turned to the grunt. “And exactly what are your intentions?” His tone was cold and austere.

The man was nervous beyond words. “N-n-nothing, sir!”

“Do _not_ lie to me.”

“I-I-I was just asking if she’d like to have drinks with me!”

A few silent chortles could be heard from the crowd, but Scarecrow was not happy. He looked at the Witch again. “Is this true?”

She blinked slowly and nodded calmly. “Yes, Sir.”

“And what did you answer?”

“That I have no interest in his proposition.”

“Very good.” Scarecrow looked back at the visored, sweating man. “As for you, what excuse do you have in shifting your priority from this meeting to your own recreational needs?”

The man was stumped, almost as if he didn’t quite understand the words appointed to him, until he finally answered: “Nothing.”

“ _Exactly_.” Scarecrow cocked his head and the grunt stepped aside. “Gentlemen..” he began and moved behind the Witch, placing his hands on her shoulders. Glancing at each man in the hall, his next words, though dire, manifested pride in presenting his subject: “This is the Witch. She is responsible for the improved version of my toxin. She will also serve as my personal assistant.” He could feel her tense up under his touch as he sluggishly slid his fingertips over her neck and below her jawbone, ever so slightly raising her chin. “You are to treat her with respect. She will not come to any harm as she is of great value for the cause. She is one of us.”

When Scarecrow stepped past the Witch to resume the meeting, secretly gracing her left breast in passing, a sudden jolt of excitement brewed in her. There was something about the Doctor’s choice of words and authority. What a disgusting though of her letting Scarecrow’s subtle suggestions go through to her, that his control over her was absolute.

“Witch, what do you know of _Cale-Anderson Pharmaceuticals_?” Scarecrow suddenly asked.

The Witch’s heart skipped a beat as all eyes fixed to her. With raising her chin, showing off her collar and power surging in her, she cleared her throat. “A company owned by Veronica Cale, who is a brilliant scientist and suave businesswoman. They specialize in research and contribution of various drugs. Their laboratories have top-notch equipment and high degree educated scientists.”

The Doctor nodded. “What about the security level in their Ryker location?”

“Bar none.”

“Impregnable?”

“Every fortress has its weak point. It’s just a matter of investigation.”

Scarecrow turned to Captain Jenner. “Gather up a team of finest locksmiths, infiltrators and soldiers while the Witch determines the weaknesses.”

Her eyes widened and she was about to say something, but decided it would be of her best interest to stay silent for now.

Fortunately, the meeting did not take too much time any longer, and the Militia was dismissed. Only the Scarecrow and the Witch remained. The Witch’s tension was tangible. Scarecrow watched her stand perfectly still as though suspended by halted time. She seemed expecting him to speak and rid her of the attentive silence. As much as he enjoyed tormenting her, he finally spoke: “You did well. At ease.”

The Witch sighed deep and her shoulders slumped.

“Now, would you like to tell me what happened?” he began interrogating.

The Witch hesitated for only a second. “The man asked me to have drinks with him and I declined. Nothing to it.”

“And?”

“And he touched me.”

Scarecrow slowly approached her. “Where?”

“My ass.”

He raised a brow and brusquely clasped her left buttock. “Here?” he teased, knowing this patronizing was getting to her nerves. He could see it in her averting gaze.

She nodded as he caressed her flesh roughly.

“Then what?”

Her mouth tightened. “I told him that unless he was prepared to face you he would better keep his hands to himself.”

He nodded approvingly. “Very good.”

The Witch seemed thoughtful. “Was it only for the show or do you consider me your assistant?”

Scarecrow chuckled. “Perhaps. After all, you did come up with the oil-base. Also, your contribution to my research has been quite assisting. But, you are my assistant in name only. The long you remain my patient I do not require you to do my paper work.”

The Witch knew his words masked sadistic, sexual desires to have her scream and beg for him. Thinking of his hideous face contort in delight at her tears made her shiver. Furthermore, clauses seemed to pile upon clauses. The Witch started to feel like falling deeper into the pit. She was already losing the sight of the exit.

“As for the rest of the day, you may leave and I will meet you for a home visit tomorrow evening. Until then, you shall investigate on Cale-Anderson’s security as homework.”

“Homework?” the Witch echoed and almost laughed.

She flinched, when Scarecrow brushed her hair and gently touched the brim of her veil that cascaded before her eyes. “An assignment, if you will. I will debrief you tomorrow during check up and your work will be evaluated.”

She didn’t dare to say a word, not even move as a needle grazed her jawbone, never piercing through skin. Scarecrow sensed her gently snap into a state of uneasiness as her eyes absently glanced about the theater. The mild doze of fear toxin he had scraped upon her skin mildly, but effectively, altered her vision just enough to raise nervousness. “Is something the matter?” he asked, unable to hide the smugness in his tone.

The Witch’s gaze didn’t seem to be able to adjust to his face. “No.” was her silent answer. Scarecrow knew it was a lie.

Digging his fingers into her hair, he leaned in to plant his mouth upon hers, brushing what was left of his lips against hers in a mockery of a kiss. Surprisingly, she acquiesced to his heft as he lashed at her tongue with his own, pressing another hand against the small of her back to pull her closer. The Witch’s dainty hands crept upon his chest in a lazy attempt of reluctance, yet her will to fight back was wilted. Her hot wetness was guaranteed by the whispered moan that escaped her lips as the Doctor affixed his hips against hers. But this was just foreplay. Something for the Witch to look forward to. A little something to fortify his might over her.

Drowsily, Scarecrow pulled out to see her reel ever so slightly, disoriented for mere seconds longer, until she seemed to wake up from her delusions. She seemed slightly confused as her gaze finally locked onto his. “I expect you to have your investigation ready by tomorrow evening. For now, you are dismissed.”

Her brows furrowed and, without a word, she left.

The Witch still felt a little dizzy as she stepped out of Osiris Cinema. She called for a cab back to Miagani. The driver was fast and the traffic was relatively calm – the cab was in the streets of Grand Avenue before she knew. She was not quite sure what had happened back at the theater. It was all sort of a blur. It was as though her spirit had left her body for a moment and everything had grown slightly dimmer and menacing, when Scarecrow had approached her after the meeting. Nothing seemed different in particular, but a sudden sense of threat took over. Apprehension had rendered her numb all over. She knew she hadn’t been injected, but had there been something else Scarecrow had used upon her? An inconspicuous doze of fear gas?

After having walked aimlessly, she entered the Black Canary club to ponder on her situation. She had no idea where to start her investigation on Cale-Anderson’s. Breaking an entering into small businesses was her alley, but finding out about the weaknesses of such a fort would prove much more difficult. Thorough planning was needed to invade such high security. And if she had nothing to present the Scarecrow with.. She didn’t want to think of what kind of trouble that would bring.

The Witch walked through the mingling customers (some even familiar faces) past the empty stage to the bar counter. She was just about to take a seat, until she noted a man leaning to the counter at her left, who seemed particularly familiar compared to everyone else. His head hung low and he seemed absent-minded. She approached him. “This thing all things devours, birds, beasts, trees, flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel. Grinds hard stones to meal. Slays king, ruins town and beats high mountain down. What is it?”

The Riddler snorted and lifted his weary gaze from his drink. “Time.”

The Witch forced a faint smile. “Do you have some?”

He gave a half-frown half-sneer. “That depends how promptly Dr. Fuckface will burst through that door.”

“I don’t think this is the kind of place he would show up in. Is this seat taken?”

He shook his head, seeming bored. “Are you sure? How do you know there’s no GPS in that fancy neckpiece he has given you?”

The Witch felt her cheeks grow hot and subconsciously touched the leash. She sat down and waved at the bartender, fighting with the zany feeling of the Ben Wa balls rotating inside her, always reminding her of Scarecrow’s grip. “I just know.” She ordered a Gin and Tonic.

“Did a crystal ball tell you that?”

The Witch scowled. “Very funny, but I just don’t think he’s like that.”

The Riddler snorted.

They were silent for a moment, until the Witch spoke again. “It’s been a while.”

A murmur.

“You look dreadful.”

“So do you.”

The Witch furrowed her brows. The Riddler didn’t seem like himself. The big words and intricate sentences were gone. “How?”

She was almost about to dig out her pocket mirror to see if it had rained outside and ruined her makeup (she couldn’t remember if it had rained – the whole way to the club had been a blur), until the Riddler responded: “You look like you haven’t slept in days. That walk-of-shame-lifestyle – it doesn’t suit you.”

The Witch ignored his derision and thanked the bartender, when her drink was brought before her. “I need a favor.”

The Riddler laughed in disdain.

“What’s so funny?” she asked and drank from her glass.

“Considering our history it’s quite ironic that you come crawling back to me asking for help.”

The Witch didn’t find that humorous at all. “I’m serious.”

The Riddler turned to her, ceasing his laughter. He seemed shabby and the trench coat he wore was dirtied by dust and motor oil. His trademark goggles dangled about his neck and there seemed to be abrasions about his neck. His dark and baggy eyes studied her intense, grievous gaze.

“I don’t have much, but I can pay you for your effort. I need to know how to infiltrate Cale-Anderson Pharmaceuticals. I need every detail on the security of their Ryker Heights’ location by tomorrow evening.”

The Riddler sipped his whiskey. “You don’t think your _boyfriend_ will mind that you are asking for my help?”

The Witch gagged. “ _Boyfriend_ is the last thing that he is.” She took another sip of her drink to wash down the ugly thought.

“Then what is he? To you?”

The Witch struggled for an answer. “He is the Scarecrow. He is a sadistic, despicable lowlife, who manipulates everyone around him with his honeyed words. He is a wicked predator and enjoys nothing more than delivering terror and distress upon others.”

“And yet you find yourself enabling him and contributing to whatever his next great plan is.” There was acidic bitterness in the Riddler’s words.

The Witch did not want to respond to that notion, which, sadly, was true. “That is my problem and mine alone.”

“Oh Hell,” the Riddler slammed a hand against the bar counter in disbelief. “you _bask_ in his attention! Whatever sick thing you two have going on, you’re actually enjoying what he’s doing to you? For fuck’s sake, look at yourself!”

The Witch stared at her glass.

“Whatever it is that he has on you—“

“I don’t care.” The Witch conveyed the heaviest look at the Riddler. She was well aware of the destructive nature of her association with the Scarecrow. She didn’t need to hear it from Nigma. She knew she was in the deepest of waters and she was sure to drown if she found no shore, but, for now, all she needed to hear from this man was if he was able to help her with her assignment.

The Riddler stared at her in silence. There was something in his eyes. Sadness? Pity? Whatever it was, the Witch crushed such emotion with the coldness in her eyes, devouring any lingering thought of that she needed to be saved. He sighed and returned to his whiskey. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The Witch was mollified. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Still..” the Riddler crooned and stealthily brought a hand upon the Witch’s thigh. “There might be another way you could repay the favor.”

She almost laughed out loud. “You’re daft.” She removed his hand gently and patted his shoulder. “You need to find yourself a woman. But in the mean time..” She stood up and dug out a small, zip lock bag from her breast pocket and slid it to the Riddler. “Here.”

He looked at her, amused. “What is it?”

The Witch emptied her glass and left a few bills on the bar counter. “A little something in advance and to help you relax. Smoke it and enjoy it with plenty of water. You look like you’re in need of a good rest. But _after_ you’ve completed your end of the deal, okay?”

The Riddler chuckled and nodded.

“Good.” She gave a light peck on his right cheek. “Thank you again.”


	11. Ghosts (Or: The Ethereal Sage Unveils Moonspells of Decadence)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter for this year. The next one will take quite a while. It seems the more I write the harder it becomes to come up with something new. And I don't want this to end quite yet.
> 
> This chapter took me a long time to perfect. I'm awfully satisfied how it turned out and I hope it sates you too.
> 
> So, without further ado, enjoy! Think of this as my way of wishing you all happy holidays!

Scarecrow gently knocked on the glass panel of Rose Hall’s front door. “Come in!” he heard an invitation and entered. There, in the candle-lit lounge, he was welcomed by balmy scent of incense and the woman sitting in a meditative position in the middle of the room.

Ada opened her eyes wearily and her tranquil face soured upon the sight of him. She quickly glanced at the grand clock in the other side of the room as though she had lost the track of time. “Could you lock the door and turn the sign? I’m almost finished here.”

The Doctor complied and allowed her to conclude whatever silly ritual she was in the middle of. Crossing his arms behind his back, he watched her slump back in a sedate state, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She had moved the heavy furniture a little further away and drawn a chalk circle around her. Five, black and thick candles surrounded her and before her were a small dish of white substance, a shot glass of liquid and a small bundle of rosemary branches tied with a black, silky ribbon. The Doctor found it somewhat peculiar to see her dressed in torn fishnet tights and a loose tunic with a lace shawl over her shoulders. It was an oddly relaxed outfit – something he hadn’t quite expected her to wear tonight.

Flames danced gently in the fireplace, lighting her face devoid of extravagant cosmetics. Her wavy black hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her pallid bust. A single hair slide embellished her coiffeur. The accessory was a skull of a small animal (perhaps a bat) trimmed with lace. The Doctor couldn’t help wondering what was the symbol that hung in a noose about her neck, the pendant resting against her comely cleavage.

Then, finally, the Witch picked up the rosemary and took a pinch of the white grains with another hand. She mumbled something incomprehensible, before tossing the grains over her shoulder. She emptied the shot glass down her throat. One last, deep breath and she stood up. She cast the rosemary into the fire and picked up the candles on the mantel two by two. The burning rosemary gave out a rich scent.

“Witchcraft?” Scarecrow spoke, slightly amused.

“Meditation, mostly.” Ada answered as she swiped away the chalk line with a damp cloth. “If there are some forces of nature that could possibly aid me..” She left the sentence unfinished as she moved the furniture a little bit closer and placed the small coffee table in the middle.

How amusing to think that witchcraft would be a resort to her affairs, Scarecrow thought. She must be desperate and all the while naive. Yet, it was in human nature to seek solace in imaginary forces, no matter how ridiculous.

“Have a seat.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather stand.” the Doctor responded. “And besides..” He made a quick gesture for her to approach. “Inspection first.”

Ada seemed to purse her black lips ever so slightly, when she took a little wider stance and put her hands atop her head.

The Doctor brought his hands to her hair, feeling through the puffiness of it down to her shoulders and arms to make sure she hadn’t concealed anything. This was also a routine address of authority. He felt her back, her breasts (biding his time a moment longer than necessary), until slowly crouching to pat down her hips, her luscious ass and well-built legs. He was content of not finding a thing hidden in her garments. He felt her strain as he slid both of his hands up her inner thighs, over the torn fishnets beneath her tunic to examine her nether-regions. He was almost surprised by the convenient absence of a crotch piece of her tights.

Intrigued by her staring into the distance, he felt her hot labia, gently tickling at her entrance to beckon access. “You are not wearing my gift.” he told as he dug his fingers inside, referring to the Ben Wa balls.

The Witch inhaled heavily. “Yesterday was the third day of this week, as per your instruction.” was her formal answer, her voice even, despite his abetting fingering.

“Very well.” he responded, finally standing up after determining that she had nothing redundant on her. He did consider her apparel superfluous, but that would be corrected soon enough. He would have her stripped and scared tonight one way or the other. “At ease.”

Ada put down her arms.

“Do you have the reports?”

She nodded and fetched a bundle of papers from the kitchen counter.

Scarecrow studied the papers, pacing towards the fireplace for light.

“Would you like some tea?” Ada asked.

“No, thank you.” Flipping through the papers, the blueprints, the security system schematics – he was surprised by the excellent job she had done. It was too excellent, in fact. Very thorough. Calculative. “Impressive.” he told. “How did you come up with this?”

Slowly approaching her, Scarecrow monitored her as she just stood there in between the kitchen and the lounge, deadpan and motionless. What was she hiding? “It was a challenge, but I have my ways.” she answered dully.

He now stood before her in silence. Her scent of pinewood and fig did not conceal the stench of untruth. He held up the papers and raised his chin, carefully underlining his words: “This is not your report.”

Her brow knitted.

“Whose is this?” He watched her fight against a shiver. She was nervous and hid it well, but not well enough for him. A realization dawned to him and he slightly parted his jaws. “It’s Nigma’s, isn’t it?” He watched her hold in her breath. “You have been seeing him, haven’t you?”

The woman’s chin lowered, but she never broke the eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Scarecrow cast the papers on the floor and raised his voice, stressing each word: “Do not lie to me!” making Ada flinch. He knew he hadn’t specifically disallowed her to meet with Nigma, but the thought of her crawling for his help repulsed the Doctor. “You sought him out and asked for help despite the fact you answer to me only.” He grasped her shoulders, vexed of the Riddler complying with her request. It piqued him to think of the possible favors she had promised in return.

She tried to keep her cool, but the fear in her eyes was wild. “You never denied me of seeking help from anyone, not even him.” There was a slight tremor in her voice, despite the assertiveness of her tone.

Unexpectedly, he slapped her across the face and she winced. “Do not get cheeky with me!” the Scarecrow snarled as Ada coiled backwards, holding her face in tears. “You very well knew I would find out sooner or later. You were just seeking for trouble, weren’t you?” Admittedly, she would have been in trouble even if she hadn’t come up with a report at all. It just would have been a different kind of trouble – either way worked for him, although this was not the way he had been going for.

Ada was in a lock.

“Answer me!”

“I’m sorry.” she whispered.

“Not good enough.” And he grasped her by the throat, gazing deep into her teary eyes. “Seems you are in need of remediation.” Her eyes widened at the sight of the sharp needles that he brought into view, stretching out, ready to strike. “Allow me to supply you with a _feargasm_ that you will never forget!”

Scarecrow drove the needles into Ada’s shoulder and the syringes flared in orange as the plungers squeezed the substance into the woman's bloodstream. He gasped in delight by her shriek of pain and cry of terror that followed soon after. He rudely pushed her backwards and watched her stumble awkwardly to the kitchen sink, her fearful gaze locked onto him like he had deformed into the most horrid creature she had yet seen. “Please, don’t!” Ada cried, hunching over. “I’ll be good!” Oh, how deliciously she pleaded!

He stomped closer, while she vocally begged in utter despair. Without a word, he slapped her again, sending her wailing upon the floor. It was not exactly pleasing for him to fix her wagon with physical violence, but if this was how her training for tonight would play out, so be it. Either way, the outcome would be the same: Ada Geier, this poor woman, mentally terrorized with him above her, fucking the undesirable attitude out of her. “Prove it. Make me believe you are true to your words.” He unbuckled his belt. “Make me _come_ to see how such a good girl you are!”

She flinched, suddenly grasping her hair-slide. She thrusted the slide’s hidden, tiny little needle into his forearm just above his wrist device. Completely taken by surprise, he howled at the hot prick and clenched the puncture wound. He was taken aback by the immediate sensation of light-headedness. His head and limbs started to feel unnaturally heavy as he stepped back, watching the woman cry on her knees, curling up into a tight bundle, cloistering. So pathetic, he thought.

Warmth came over him, stirring a surreal sensation. Everything around him warped. “What.. did you do to me?” The floor felt like it was slightly sinking under his steps as he backed up, stumbling, trying to get a hold of something he could lean to. What a peculiar feeling. His legs gave out and he awkwardly tumbled down onto the floor, barely feeling any pain, his head swaying. His anger oddly melted away, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy sense of jeopardy. A godly drone filled his ears. A single, distant roar with no apparent source was followed by low, silent choir.

Ada was still cowering. He never received an answer from her as she still cried hysterically. He perceived a flickering figure loom over her, comforting her. Scarecrow tilted his head in fascination, when he shambled backwards and finally found the couch to seat himself. Feeling utterly powerless he, through heavy eyelids, observed the woman frantically crawl up and grasp a bottle. She quickly drank from it.

The figure never left her presence, still standing there close to Ada, its arms holding her tightly as it was slowly taking a sharper form. Ada soon pulled herself together and now stood with the fear dissipating. The eerie choir was still there, accusatively soughing. Scarecrow felt unconventionally wary, yet incredibly relaxed and at ease. He couldn’t move a muscle and it troubled him, when the woman solemnly walked to a nearby drawer to pick up something and place it upon her face.

She now came before him, surrounded by the truculent scent of rosemary, the upper portion of her face adorned with a delicately ornate blind mask of antique silver twine. Undoubtedly a new mask she had crafted for herself. The other figure was diagonally behind her, a reflection of herself, hands on the physical woman’s shoulders. The ghostly reflection stood a head taller than the Witch, a menacing and demonic version of her with pale eyes staring at him, piercing right through him. Thick horns protruded from its forehead, spiraling and magnificent. Scarecrow let out a small laughter at how utterly feeble he felt – it was borderline arousing.

“𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬.” the Witch stated, her voice low. “𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.” It sounded as though two people were speaking. It sent a stirring down to Scarecrow’s loins. What on earth had she poisoned him with?

He laughed again, barely able to keep his eyes open as he leaned his head back, looking up at her. She was right. He was completely vulnerable. “Then why don’t you?” he spoke softly – a snide comment to suggest she hadn’t the guts.

The ghost furrowed its scaly brows.

“Go ahead. Kill me and solve all your problems.” he taunted, wearily spreading his arms to his sides as invitation.

The Witch stood speechless, the air about her dark and foggy. Power was surging in her, but there was something holding her back and Scarecrow very well knew what. He had not lost all his power.

He snorted. “You can’t do it.” he told knowingly. “Deep inside you _know_ you cannot dispose of me.” He watched the woman’s black lips part as she lifted her chin in a comfortless attempt of hiding her insecurity. He could feel her teetering timidness call forth his own desires to defile her. “You are a slave to your own libidinous instincts. You _ache_ to surrender. You cannot bear to have my attention erased.”

Something glistened down the Witch’s chin. A single tear rolled from beneath her mask. “𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐢𝐭.” she whispered and her demonic self took a step backwards, emotionlessly surveying the Scarecrow.

“You can’t deny this addiction. You can’t refuse the examination, the experiments – no matter how much it appals you. Despite the horrors, you can’t help yourself from coming back. It _thrills_ you too much.”

“𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐮𝐥𝐥.” her voice sounded tight. Strained.

The very sight of the Witch exhilarated him. Fancied him rotten. Her compulsive need to stay strong and defiant, yet spiraling into surrender stormed a lecherous tingling all over him, his blood rushing downwards. “Undoubtedly.” He nodded. “I am at your mercy.” Languidly, he brought his right hand to his knee and slowly slid it up along his thigh. He still had his mind to destroy hers despite whatever amatory components she had poisoned him with for self-defense.

The Witch’s reflection seemed enraged yet shocked as it retreated, growing translucent.

Scarecrow sneered. He brought his hand to his crotch, lazily fondling himself. The woman’s head turned to this lewd gesture, confirming that this blind mask was anything but blind. Her lips pursed, when her ghost was finally gone. Though the Doctor could not see her eyes, he perceived fear lingering within. Whatever she had drunk before had merely diluted his potent toxin. While the fear had thinned it did not take away her propensity for carnality. A carnality that was fueled by fear of him.

“Well?” he spoke. “What are you waiting for?”

Ceremonially, the Witch finally approached and gingerly sat upon his lap. Sighing, Scarecrow felt his pulse elevate watching her – an odd sensation. He was barely able to bring his hands on her buttocks, when the Witch wound her dainty fingers about his throat, tightening the grasp to choke him as an ugly frown contorted her face. Scarecrow felt his windpipe narrow and clamp up. His blood rushed in marvel of how those small hands held such power to obstruct his respiration. He stared at her without a shred of emotion, studying the unfettered rancor. She indeed could kill him.

Black spots began to appear in his sight as he felt her weight press against him, her lovely legs astride him clenching, her lovely flesh grinding against his clothes. Was this what they called _erotic asphyxiation_? Crane was already starting to lose his train of thought, when everything grew dimmer and his breath was but a wheeze if even that.

And then, he suddenly gasped in relief, when the Witch removed her grip. Dizzy, he shut his eyes and heavily petted her thighs, slowly regaining his breath. He savored the feel of her bare sex against his nigh aching hard, clothed member. He craved to have her impale herself with it. Whatever it was that coursed through his veins was starting to dissolve slowly but surely.

A touch upon his mangled face urged him to look at her. Repulsion twitched the corner of the Witch’s mouth. “𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐲.” She finally hissed. “𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐝𝐨, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭.” Scarecrow was barely able to sneer at this threat as she stood up. With her right arm straightened out, she pointed at the door in unrestrained severity. “𝐍𝐨𝐰, 𝐠𝐨. 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞.”

He slowly stood up, buckled his trousers and picked up the report from the floor. It bemused him that she still had a fight in her, even after all this time. It almost surprised him every time, but even so it brought him exquisite thrill to break her down again and again. He chuckled and closed the distance between them, brushing his knuckles over the brim of her mask. “If you wish. But tomorrow night, you are to arrive for a proper checkup. As for your next assignment you are to masturbate tonight.”

Ada’s head lowered, her whole body tensing in ire, as though embarrassed by him knowing tonight had elevated her appetite by some degree.

“You will picture me in your feverish dreams and never forget that you are mine. Tomorrow, you will wear an outfit of your choosing as an offering of your apology. You will present yourself in a comely, respectable manner and if I am pleased, you might be excused for tonight’s behavior.”

“𝐆𝐨.” she whispered.

He grasped her by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall. She couldn’t make a sound, when Scarecrow pressed his mouth against hers. Her lips yielded to the mighty sword that was his explicit tongue, while her body, so delicate and hot, became enchanted by his beguiling frame that weighed her down. His roaming hand reached beneath her tunic to ensnare her sex with such heavy petting the woman cried out against his teeth. Arms wrapped around his neck while he fingered her furiously. Her hips buckled and Scarecrow grew dangerously hungry to ravish her.

So, he decidedly pulled back fully, to see how the Witch clung against the wall, shocked and dismayed. Her lips were smeared and she didn’t move. Only her chest heaved as though she was out of breath. The Doctor could see how her world was crumbling down around her.

“Finish yourself tonight. I give you my earnest approval.”

The Witch wrinkled her nose and the corners of her mouth curled slightly downwards in disgust. She was desperately fighting.

Scarecrow chuckled. “ _Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, thus much let me avow — you are not wrong, who deem that my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away in a night, or in a day, in a vision, or in none, is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream._ ”

The Witch’s teeth clenched. “ _𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞._ ”

 

 

 

 

 

> _There's not a shred of beauty here,_  
>  _Residing in the human flesh_  
>  _There's only sadness and confusion,_ _  
> _ _And the stench of shit and death._
> 
> _In moments dull of self-pity,_  
>  _Of insufficiency and doubt,_ _  
> _ _I catch myself black handed thief,_ _  
> _ _Wishing that there'd be someone else._

 

The Witch paid her cab driver and exited the car. She walked in a brisk pace through the gloomy streets of Bleake. The pavement was wet from the ceased rain and the glaring neon signs reflected from the puddles. No particular thought crossed her mind as she walked past the GCPD building. There was only a stifling sense of emptiness that coiled inside. She felt like a mindless ghost passing through the living, these people with a purpose, a meaning. She barely paid attention to them, hardly noticing the few curious glances at her way. She didn’t care. None of it seemed to matter.

A faceless man bumped into the Witch’s left shoulder and she was slightly displeased that her tranquil journey had been broken. The tiniest prick jabbed at her bicep momentarily. She ignored this and carried on. Then, another man bumped into her right shoulder and she awoke. This was not normal.

She looked back and witnessed that the man turning to her had the widest, distorted grin, before she bolted into running. The sky had suddenly turned into a dark, reddish hue and she knew she had been administered with fear toxin. Heavy footsteps followed her and panic gripped her by the throat like a vengeful, violent ex-lover. Her vision vibrated and her mouth went dry as her pursuer gained on her. This was a trap.

The Witch shrieked, when she was caught and pushed into a dark alley. She was completely overwhelmed by the strong arms that enveloped her and the burley body of her pursuer that pressed tightly against her back. “Help!” she screamed and the man laughed at her, ridiculing her pleas. She struggled and scratched at every part of his body she could reach, but the tough Kevlar uniform was impenetrable. “Let me go!” She hunched and twisted against the disgustingly roaming hands that groped her all over. The vile touching focused on her crotch in a proprietary manner. She couldn’t believe this – it was like her privates were a magnet to molesters, when she was scared.

“No one will save you.” The man’s voice was garbled, like a radio dunk under water. He was not wearing a voice changer.

In the corner of her eye, the Witch caught a glimpse of a thin figure observing her further away in the shadows. An odd, frail creature with a white, skin-tight hood and a big, bright yellow flower plastered over its face. It was chinking its unnaturally long talons against each other.

Desperation hadn’t fully taken over her, when she deployed a tactic she hadn’t used since childhood. She lifted her legs off the ground to direct her full weight downwards and her pursuer with her, taking him by surprise. Though the grip did not falter, she was able to bring herself into crouching, thus capable to bounce back up and lift her legs high in the air. The man now reeling backwards ever so slightly, the Witch kicked at the nearby wall with all her might and forced the man to fall onto his back with her on top of him. He gagged as wind got knocked out of his lungs. A swift jab with her elbow to his diaphragm and she was free. She was not a fighter, but there sure had been enough times, when she needed to escape.

She never looked back, when she fled.

Her running was halted by a sudden tremble under her feet and a heavenly rumble that shook the whole island. And there, in the skyline, a colossal shape soared, towering over the city like Diabolus ex Machina. She went cold, when the monster turned, buildings shaking, and locked his flaming red eyes upon her. “𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞!” was this predatory creature’s thunderous roar, the stitching over his mouth making a loud, wet, puncturing noise as they popped. Huge droplets of blood spilled over the streets. The monster reached for her with a gargantuan, deadly hand.

The Witch darted across the street and through the flickering crowd and meandering alleyways in a fit of apprehension, the lace of her high-low dress billowing behind her, when she sprinted. _‘Be still, my beating heart!’_ she reassured herself. _‘This is not real.’_

Another hideously disfigured Militia lunged at her from behind a corner and she screamed, when he grasped her arms. “This isn’t real!” She only barely managed to twist herself free to continue her flight while grabbing the hip-flask hanging from her utility belt.

“𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 _𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥_ 𝐬𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥?” The giant’s voice shook the earth.

The Witch ran, struggled with the cap for a few seconds, until she was able to pour the potion down her throat. She immediately turned to the man that followed her and blew a pillar of angry, red flames at him.

A garbled and tortured roar, and he coiled. The Witch didn’t stay to watch him bat the embers that ate at him.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡.” the skies rumbled and yet another figure caught her and pulled off the road.

“Fuck you!” she cried out as she was forcibly dragged to the docks, into the shade of two condemned buildings near the Coast Guard. She tried hitting her assailant, but resulted in only hurting herself. The man laughed with his shredded mouth gaping wide open and his black tongue slicing the air obscenely. He was much stronger than her as he enclosed her in an oppressive embrace. “Don’t fucking touch me!” she swore and despite her efforts to use her weight as leverage, the plagued Militia thrust his mouth at her wide keyhole neckline.

The Witch cried at the disgusting tongue that slipped and slithered hither and thither her cleavage like a fat, slimy worm. She desperately tried to pry him off of her by grasping his visored helmet, but his hold was relentless.

“𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫. 𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞.”

The Witch squirmed in repulsion as she felt drool dripping down her skin through her neckline. This zombie wasn’t entirely dried and withered as he had first seemed. The Witch's hands finally found a soft spot at the man’s neck and she wound her fingers around it, pressing her thumbs against his Adam’s apple. He croaked, his ashen and leathery skin stretching, lifted his head ever so slightly and the Witch finally had an opening. She pushed at his forehead to land a painful hit upon his throat with the ulnar border of her hand. He retched and fell back, his hold of the Witch loosening so that she was able to drive the tip of her platform combat boot into his crotch. The fucker toppled on the ground in unspeakable agony.

“𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭.” The Witch was startled by large talons that scraped across rooftops and the horrid monster that waded through the canal, waves surging over the old, stone fences. Hundreds of crows took flight, when he appeared. His terrifying mouth stretched into a sneer, when his glowing red eyes, like eerie searchlights, spotted her. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.” Black muck and blood gushed out of his mouth and smeared his whole front.

An arm wrapped around the Witch's neck from behind and her right arm was twisted behind her back. Her strength was wilting away as peril crippled her. The stench of burning skin and hair filled her nostrils and she knew her captor being the same grunt she had scorched earlier. She caught a glimpse of the other grunt crawling towards her, recovering from her attack, before her head was forced to turn skywards, to see the master of this horrifying delusion, the Master of Fear lean closer, slow-motion and creating gentle gusts of wind as he waved a hand.

“Stop this nightmare!” the Witch shouted and the Militia chortled in unison. She cried upon feeling rough hands creeping up her legs. Yes, her fright was a magnet to predators and this was repayment for her last night's insubordination.

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩.” Scarecrow spoke, his body deteriorating. He waved a hand again, his theatrical manners raising pride and superiority within him, and it showed. The Witch could see it in his shredded face and deathly rictus.

The heavy petting moved to the Witch’s hips, feeling her rear and stroking her front, heavy and lustful breathing growing stronger by minute. She shivered as the crouching Militia thumbed at her crotch like playing with a sliding puzzle. “This isn’t real! It’s just the toxin!” she whispered to herself in an attempt to iron her will to see through this vision, this abominable hallucination.

“𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰.” As though compelled by his words, the Witch was mentally sinking, when Scarecrow bowed down, leaning to the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. The bell of the Clocktower resounded like a song to her end times. Scarecrow’s horrible face now five meters away from her, his crooked teeth were the size of her head and the stitching was like thick rope puncturing his ashen skin. The spotlights that were his eyes nearly blinded her. His breath reeked of a thousand carcasses, when he spoke: “𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧. 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐫.”

When the touching reached beneath her dress, the Witch panicked. She twisted and climbed up the crouching Militia’s shoulders to push him back and kick his face. He howled, while the other laughed and threw the Witch face down on the wet, gritty ground. A rock struck a nerve on her knee and she cried out at the stinging scratches on her cold palms.

“𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

She didn’t even make it to turn or stand up, when firm hands clasped her ankles and started dragging her weary body away. “No, please stop! Let me go!” she screamed and kicked in agony as the tiny rocks and pavement abraded her, mud and dirt ruining her clothes. She was glad she was wearing her warm, woolen jacket: otherwise the gravel surely would have grated her into ribbons.

A strange, ethereal humming reached her ears. Even silent tune of strings whispered from an unknown source.

When she finally came to a stop, she was pulled up, into the shade of a decrepit terrace by the canal. The Scarecrow, not the giant he was before, yet still towering over her, tossed her against a brick wall savagely, reminding her too much of when he first lay a hand upon her at Arkham. His hips tightly against hers, he cast the darkest stare straight into her, his eyes lost their flame, now only pale orbs that shot daggers. His flesh beneath the sack-mask was festering. She wanted to vomit. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐭.” A rude hump and she moaned. “𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐞. 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬.”

Scarecrow lifted her higher up the wall, winding her legs about his waist and she had no choice but to hang onto him, that wicked animal, whose silhouette was framed by the pale light of the moon.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.” Another hump. “𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐜 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.” The sounds in the Witch’s head grew louder, when Scarecrow swiftly invaded her, forcibly breaking and entering. Growling in luster, he tossed his head. The Witch grew horrified of the publicity of all this: though hidden away at the docks, there was no telling when someone would eventually find them.

The Doctor, slowly and proficiently, slid inside her back and forth, rejoicing in her fright. The Witch’s toes curled as she was filled with him – everything that the Scarecrow was pervaded her, like a disease infecting her with this cancerous ecstasy. She stared at the moon, her tears stinging her eyes, lost to this world and beaten down, torn apart. A gentle mist shrouded the rays, glorifying the celestial body. “The moon..” she whispered deliriously. “She’s singing..!”

Grasping both cheeks of her ass tighter, Scarecrow brought his face to hers, pressing his teeth against her mouth to beguile her with his debauched tongue, deepening this wicked dance, otherwise known as erotic enslavement. She could feel the every inch of him polishing her insides meticulously, grinding his pubic bone against her clit in a perfect curve. The impudent kissing brought the act into a smuttier scene. “𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 _𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠_. 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

The Witch cried and wound her arms tighter around his neck, baring her own to the walking dead. Her mind began to fall into the labyrinthine thought of finding solace in being the center of attention to this ruthless, abhorrent man. This parasite, who answered her call for being wanted (and accepted) for the way she was: a slave to carnal desires.

Scarecrow suddenly exited her and dropped her down only to turn her around, placing her hands against the wall. With forte, he pushed at her back and reared her behind, forcing her body to flex into an arch. Cold air attacked her flesh, when the monster tossed her hems over her back. A prickling hot slap landed on her ass and she flinched. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥. 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜.” He slapped her again and her skin didn’t feel the cold any longer by the harsh groping of her flesh. A gentle touch grazed her folds, slick, revering the wetness. “𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐭, 𝐩𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.”

The Witch held in a cry, when he re-entered, seizing her hips to give his ardent, formidable thrusts more power. She yielded in awe, like fully deserving to be punished as she clawed the wall in defeat. She squirmed by the aggressive fucking, still anxious about the risk of becoming discovered in this state, weak and subdued. A hand grasped the back of her neck and she could feel him go deeper, pounding his authority into her. “𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫.” He fisted her hair and she whimpered. “𝐀𝐦 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫?”

Something else suddenly crept along her back, snaking around her, feeling her waist and spreading her legs. “Please, don’t hurt me!” she managed to squeal. “I can’t take pain right now.” She was terrified of hurt. She was exhausted to fight, when the numerous tentacles found their way between her thighs.

“𝐀𝐦 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫?” Scarecrow repeated, pulling at her hair in irritation and the Witch wailed.

“Yes, Sir!”

“𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.” The Witch whimpered as Scarecrow chastised her flesh with another heavy slap and grasped her by her leash – his gift to her, his one expression of generosity and care. At least that’s what he surely wanted her to think. The cold, glutinous tentacles massaged her lower lips lovingly and coiled around her breasts, encasing her in touches that both thrilled and disgusted her.

The way Scarecrow’s penetrations rubbed her thoroughly and the hasting of his pace made her feel like she was about to burst, until she was tugged by her leash, making her choke, smothering the build-up: either deliberate or a happy accident by him, but uncomfortable nonetheless. “𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐌𝐬. 𝐆𝐞𝐢𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲..” He tugged again. “..𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫.”

The Witch dug a pair of fingers under the leather collar to ease her breathing. “Please.. strangling!” she whizzed.

Suddenly, he caught her breasts and pulled her straight up and she cried at the pain his engorged cock brought her: him being taller than her, she needed to tiptoe to ease the aching that targeted her cervix, when Scarecrow pressed her back tightly against his chest. The discomfort was made worse by lithe sway of his hips. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝?” He kneaded her breasts, while burrowing his face into her hair. “𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡.”

The soon he exited, the Witch was roughly turned around to face him and she flinched, almost having forgotten how hideous he looked, before she was forced to go down. “𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐩.” was Scarecrow’s strict command and, out of fear, the Witch complied, accepting his pulsating erection into her mouth. The Witch shivered at his delighted, heavy exhale, when she applied pressure to please him, but also to prevent him from clogging her windpipe as he fucked her mouth. She clawed at his tattered jacket as he held her head, much too eager to have all of her. The Witch cried and she knew her muffled moans only exhilarated him, vibrating through his entirety. Wanting this nightmare to be over and to sate the Doctor’s lust, she wound her fingers at the base of his cock to deepen the oral pleasuring. “𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥!” he grunted.

Her eyes met his. The pallid moon shone behind him, nigh flattering the sickening sight of him parting his jaws in adoration of her laboring. His rotting face contorted into a frown as he suddenly erupted, filling her mouth to the brim and she gagged as his plentiful seed spilled down her throat. “𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐞.” Scarecrow purred, when he slowly slid out.

She did as she was told, tasting the saltiness of his semen go down in slimy clumps.

“𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝.”

The Witch was suddenly lifted on her feet and shoved against the wall, while Scarecrow disappeared under her dress. She gasped as he attacked her slippery slit with his tongue that sliced her like a skillful swordsman. She could feel his fingers spreading her labial wings to unveil her aching clit, to run that wonderful tongue all over, eating her, slipping through her entrance every now and then. “Doctor!” the Witch whispered in utmost pleasure of his treatment, her legs trembling and hips buckling in plea of satisfaction. “Feels so good..!” she huffed, her cheeks red and hot, but not as hot as the folds of her legs. “I need to come!”

Scarecrow, lifting her hems up to her waist, halted the oral stimulation and turned his gaze up to her. He didn’t seem as horrible as before. There was triumph in his eyes and the Witch was flustered. “You didn’t say _please_.” he murmured, his voice smooth like velvet.

The Witch should have known, should have predicted this teasing and mischief. Begging, she touched his face, the rough burlap over his left cheekbone. “Please, Doctor. I want to come.” she whispered.

A sly grin deformed his features. “Permission granted.” And he went down on her again. The Witch shuddered and moaned in gratitude. Pleasure took her and ravaged her in its heavenly tingle, when Scarecrow delivered earth-shattering blow after another, lashing and licking at her, his whole mouth enveloping her. Watching him savor every passing moment of eating her magnified the heat and the Witch fell hard into his thrall. Her insides churned and a seizing convulsion toppled her as she came, crying out and squirming against Scarecrow’s grip that tightened about her, never stopping, never ceasing the hot tonguing. The Witch burned and melted, spasming in the nigh cannibalism delivered upon her, growing sore every time a lash slid over her clit. She pushed at Scarecrow’s head as a signal she could go on no longer and the hungry beast slowly settled down, sighing against her flesh.

The Witch trembled. Her legs would have given out if it weren’t for the Doctor’s heavy hold. He stood and pressed against her, pinning her between the wall and himself. The Witch had the hardest time to gather her breath as he pecked, softly licking her lips to share her taste. “Can you walk? My car is just around the corner.” he asked, completely blank.

She didn’t dare to look at him as she swallowed and nodded. “I think so.” she whispered.

Scarecrow wound an arm around her shoulders and led her literally around the corner. The Witch wondered how long had he shadowed her tonight and had there been any Militia stalking her to begin with. She doubted it, but still.. The Doctor opened the back door and the Witch seated herself on the edge of the trunk, her gaze strictly attached to the ground. What a harrowing night it has been.

Scarecrow strode to the driver’s side and returned to her with a bottle of water. Not a word was exchanged. The Witch drank a mouthful and directed her gaze at the canal and the tall buildings of Miagani looming behind it. Gotham seemed normal again. Grim, bright billboards and neon lights. The Witch found herself pondering on what, in an alternative universe without the Doctor, would she be doing right now. Would she still be working at Arkham or would this be the Riddler, who seated himself at her side? “You did well.” Scarecrow told.

The Witch doubted that even her parallel self would be sitting here with the Riddler, or anyone else for that matter. Somehow, she saw her alternative version quite lonely. The Witch stared at the _Lady of Gotham,_ towering in the distance with her sword in a tight grasp and the noble eagle sitting atop her hoisted hand, to give light and guidance for travelers and lost souls alike. Somehow she seemed sad.

“Tomorrow night, we raid Cale-Anderson Pharmaseuticals.”

“We?”

“You are to go and confiscate some necessities with my men. You will be escorted and protected accordingly, and you are to aid them in their task with your knowledge of the facility’s construction. You shall prove your worth in stealth and dexterity.”

The Witch furrowed her brows and drank more water. “You really want me to take part in a heist?”

“Exactly. Think of it as a training exercise. For both you and my men. If your  _research_ on the location hold true, you should have nothing to worry about.”

The Witch swallowed, the thought of this task already unnerving her. In her mind she swore to kill Nigma, if something went wrong.

“Is something the matter?”

“It’s a demanding assignment. Everything needs to go minutely according to plan.”

“My men have been trained and briefed. Each and every one of them have been given a specific task. Captain Jenner will be in charge of conducting the mission.”

In other words, the Witch thought, she was tasked to play her part as a form of punishment. Tonight had only been part one of her penalty.

Scarecrow opened a concealed compartment from the side of the trunk. “Here.” He gave her a wireless tactical headset and a bundle of leather straps that were fixed to each other by O-rings and a buckle. A harness belt? “Wear your disguise and these tomorrow night. For your safety.”

She finally turned to him. There was not the slightest glint of emotion in his face and she knew, despite him telling her she would not come to any harm, there was always the possibility of peril. “What about you?”

“I will be watching over you. In a way or the other. A car will pick you up at 1:00 am.”

The Witch sighed and drank again. A police siren howled somewhere in the distance.

“By the way..” Scarecrow spoke, suddenly sounding oddly jovial as he leaned back to his hands. “What was it that you poisoned me with last night?”

She looked at him, addled by the sudden upbeat. She couldn’t see his face clearly. His hood cast a heavy shadow and the moon behind him was bright. “Salvia divinorum.”

Scarecrow was silent and the Witch was starting to get nervous. She barely perceived him raise his brows. “That’s it?”

The Witch almost let out a laugh at his disbelief. “That’s it.”

Scarecrow chuckled. “How curious.. Sage of the Seers.. Simple and effective. Elegant, even.”

Was that a compliment? Moreover, a compliment on her or salvia itself? Whichever it was, the Witch nodded and turned to the skies, where the moon still loomed. It was a beautiful night even after what had happened. And no, the moon wasn't singing. Just like the Doctor said, she was indeed crying. In the stillness of the night, the crows returned to their post, ascending atop the nearby trees and buildings.


	12. The Heist

Idiots. A bunch of bumbling _idiots_. The Witch cursed violently in her mind, when alarms roared murderously throughout the whole building. Even after the supposed briefing and even after she had _specifically_ emphasized on the importance of faultless performance, yet someone let the alarms go crazy. _Total fucking idiots!_

“Fᴀʟʟ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ!” she heard Captain Jenner shout in her tiny headset. “Fᴀʟʟ ʙᴀᴄᴋ!”

The Witch ran with a handful of Militia straight for the doors that were suddenly sealed shut by safety shields. “Fuck!” she growled, eyeing the troops through the night-vision of her blind mask. “Who the fuck didn’t do their part?!” She was utterly mad, not because of the failed mission but of the consequences that she knew were to follow.

Two men rushed to the door and started searing lines into the barrier with blowtorches. Their actions were swift and effective, professional, unlike that moron, who had triggered the alarm.

“This was not part of the plan!” She did not get, nor did she expect a response, when a third man hoisted her by her harness belt to bring her behind the reception desk five seconds before explosion.

Militia and the Witch ran into the night through the gaping hole that had plastered itself onto the shield and the front entrance. “Freeze! Gotham PD!” Witch’s heart skipped a beat at the blaring declaration and the screaming of sirens. Gunfire.

Tear gas canisters were tossed. “Esᴄᴏʀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Wɪᴛᴄʜ!” someone shouted in her wireless earpiece and a Militia wound an arm around her shoulders, running right beside her. “This way.” he told, leading his group and the Witch out of the scene, taking a sharp turn to right into the winding tunnels.

“What the fuck happened?” Her blood was boiling as they passed Osiris Cinema. She didn’t think she had ever used as many profanities in such a short period of time.

“I don’t know, Ma’am. Someone must have tripped the alarm.”

“You think?!” She didn’t even care to comment on his failure to not call her _Ma’am_.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Someone screwed up.”

“Yea? Well, you better come up with something, or we’re all screwed when Scarecrow has our heads on a plate!”

She could hear shouts far behind. The man behind her also disappeared with a scream and she turned around to see no one. Panic struck her like an iron bar to the back of her head. She was all alone. Bare and vulnerable. She dashed and ran for her life, until she could not feel the ground under her feet, when something wrapped around her waist. Within that fraction of a second she was swept into the air. She screamed at the distance between her feet and the ground, when she was whisked across the gauzy mist of the night, old gravestones swarming before her sight. She clung to whoever had caught her, now knowing what it truly was to fear heights and sudden movies.

She was safely dropped onto the ground right behind _Divinity Church_ and she stumbled. Squatting, she pressed both her leather-gloved palms on a patch of damp grass, pushing down nausea by blowing through pursed lips.

“Sorry, sometimes I forget not everyone are used to swinging around!”

The Witch swallowed hard and stood up to see her abductor. “Wow.” was her initial reaction to the sight before her and she immediately felt silly. The man, this archetype of an athlete was more than impressive, clad in skin-tight leather and tactical armor. “Wow.” she still gawked and felt even sillier as she absorbed the symbol across his muscular chest.

“Name’s Nightwing, but okay!” He sounded friendly, but the Witch could not lower her guard. She had only heard rumors about him. “And who you might be?”

A chill went down her spine. She had no idea what to do. She hadn’t been fully prepared for an interrogation by Nightwing, let alone any of the masked vigilantes. Why was he even here? Wasn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?

“Does it matter?” she asked back. “I mean..” She smiled and touched her hair in feigned innocence, bringing her shoulders closer to her chest. “You can call me anything you want.”

Nightwing’s laugh was warm and kind. He didn’t seem as bad as the Witch had heard. Yet, that body of toned muscle and sinew spoke volumes of his capability to bring down a group of men with ease. “You okay? Seemed like you were in trouble back there.”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, I’m a little dazed. I have never been saved by a vigilante before. I’ve lived in Gotham only a couple of years now. How did you know I was in trouble?”

“Wʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Hᴇʟʟ ɪs Wɪᴛᴄʜ?” Captain Jenner growled in her headset.

“I was in the neighborhood and then I heard these alarms at Cale-Anderson’s. So I checked it out, like you do, when you’re a crime fighter, and saw a whole bunch of Militia fleeing from the crime scene.”

The Witch’s pulse rose, but she fought to keep up the sweet smile. She was glad Scarecrow hadn’t provided her nor the Militia walkie-talkies.

“Sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴡɪᴛʜ Rɪʟᴇʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴀɢᴏ.” men spoke in her ear.

“And then I saw them running at your heel. So, I took them out, swooped you and now we’re here. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that break-in, would you?” Nightwing continued.

In her mind, the Witch begged to be found. “Not a clue.”

“I mean, usually people don’t go on about the streets wearing a mask or run around with dangerous men in the middle of the night.” Nightwing approached and the Witch paled.

She shrugged and almost inadvertently crossed her arms, giving lift to her bosom. She grazed her right breast to bring her fingers into her hair that, at least most of it, was hidden beneath her hood. “I’m a night person. Just heading for the next party.” What the Hell was she doing, acting like a coy teenager? Couldn't she have come up with any other way of seduction?

“A party like robbing a renowned pharmaceutical company?”

Shit. That didn’t go well. Apparently Nightwing’s will was just as impenetrable as his abs.

“ _Fɪɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ._ ” The Witch’s insides curled at hearing the cold voice of Scarecrow in her ear.

In secret, turning her head just slightly to the right timidly, she held down the small button of her headset, still smiling. “Naw, that kind of work and planning would put me in an early _grave_.”

Nightwing tilted his head, his own smile fading a little. “You know, funny thing about the Militia – they haven’t been around for some years now.”

“Really?”

“They were hired by Arkham Knight to carry out Scarecrow’s plans in taking over Gotham. You’ve heard about it, right? The thing is: the Militia was wiped out and disbanded after that incident.” His tone started to sound serious.

The Witch’s heart was racing, when she noted movement far behind Nightwing. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “I’ve had nothing to do with what happened back then.” She snorted and feigned bafflement by raising her hands. “I didn’t even live in Gotham back then. I’m a nobody! Why would they be after me? Do you think they want something from me?”

He shrugged. “That’s what I’d like to know. So why don’t we head to GCPD and sort this thing out, okay? You’ll be safer there.”

And then, a Militia jumped at Nightwing from behind, enclosing him in a sleeper hold, while two others attacked from his sides. A tight grasp took the Witch by her wrist and she started running with another man. Without looking back, they ran up the ramp that lead to _Perdition Bridge_ and entered the car that had been left on a curb. The man didn’t waste time, when he drove off towards Bleake. He dialed the car phone. “Connors here. I have the Witch. Heading to the HQ.”

“Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅs?” Scarecrow’s tone was even.

“Thompson’s group has them. They’re also on their way.”

“Gᴏᴏᴅ.”

“We ran into Nightwing.”

Two seconds of silence. “Yᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴀᴛ?”

“Took out Riley’s group while they had the Witch. My group stayed behind to take care of him.”

Even as this wasn’t a video-call, the Witch could picture Scarecrow turning to her with an ominous look about his face. “Wɪᴛᴄʜ.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Sᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇs. Nᴏᴡ.”

The Witch did so, patting down every inch of her. She reached behind her back and there, at her shoulder blades, where she barely reached – there was something. She snatched it off to bring it into view. A lump rose in her throat. “A bug.”

“Dɪsᴘᴏsᴇ ᴏғ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅsᴇᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ. Yᴏᴜ ᴛᴏᴏ, Cᴏɴɴᴏʀs. Dʀᴏᴘ ᴏғғ ᴛʜᴇ Wɪᴛᴄʜ ᴀs sᴏᴏɴ ᴀs ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴛ. Aɴᴅ Wɪᴛᴄʜ, sᴛᴀʀᴛ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ.”

“Over and out.”

They both threw the electronics out the windows and the car speeded across the bridge. When the car curved into Chinatown, the man eased on the accelerator, just barely safe for a quick drop-off. He yelled: “Go!” and the Witch darted out.

The streets were quiet, yet the bright lights shone her way. The rich scent of stir-fry wetted her appetite, but there was no time to consider eating. When she passed _Gotham Herald_ , a hand reached out from behind a corner and she was pulled into a dark alley. She jumped at the sight of Scarecrow. “Get in the car.” he lead her further into the alley and opened the trunk doors of his hearse. The Witch crept in with Scarecrow behind her.

After shutting the doors, he waited for a moment, listened to the outside world. The neon lights illuminated his raggedy features through a slit in the white drapes as he crouched. Then, something brighter shone past. A police siren screeched and then silence. He turned to the Witch. “Now, what exactly happened?”

The Witch sighed in frustration and lowered her hood, letting herself fall on her bottom. “Your idiot men screwed up, that’s what happened! I don’t know who, but either someone triggered the alarm or someone hadn’t taken care of the alarms in the first place.”

“And Nightwing?”

“He..” The Witch was still flustered by the sight of the vigilante. What a sight to behold. “He appeared out of nowhere. I have never seen anything like that before. He just whisked me away and asked me some questions.”

Scarecrow crept closer. “What did you tell him?” He seemed much creepier in the night-vision, his eyes gleaming white and the green highlighting the horribleness that was his face.

“I told him nothing. I told him I have no knowledge of the Militia or the heist, and that I was just going to a party. But..”

“But what?”

“I don’t think he fully bought it. He’s suspicious. He told the Militia haven’t been around after what you did some years ago.”

Gunfire echoed outside and they both froze.

“Lay low.” Scarecrow told, rushing himself on top of the Witch. She found it immensely inconvenient, but couldn’t argue with him as he took his place between her legs, body against body. Instead of staying still, he impatiently gathered the lace and linen of her dress over her waist for better access to what was hiding underneath.

The Witch went cold and began pushing him, when his roaming fingers fiddled with her underwear. “What are you doing?” she whispered, writhing.

The Doctor crept the fingers of his left hand into her hair as he breathed in her suspense. “You are clearly traumatized.” he told silently as he moved aside her mesh thong to slide his fingers across her heat. “Overworked by excitement.”

The Witch mewled and tried to reach for his hand, but he was much too tightly pressed against her. Fear once more awakened.

“The thrill of hunt took a lot out of you. Just relax and I shall make it better.”

The sound of unfastening belt threw the Witch into a fit. “No!” she breathed, her legs coiling as she kept pushing, but her muscles seemed to have worn out of strength after all that fleeing. “Someone will hear!” she cried and strained, when Scarecrow forced an entry all the way in and held down her right wrist, pressing the other heavy hand over her mouth.

He hushed. “Stay quiet, pumpkin. Everything is going to be alright.” He began a slow pumping to massage her from the inside, the thrill having engulfed him in a ravenous spirit to have her there and then. The Witch pressed her free hand against his heaving chest as he rocked, unspeakable sensation ravaging her. She was utterly afraid of being caught, yet the divine grinding between her thighs elevated the whole situation into a tantalizing state. The soles of her boots tightly pressed against the floor and her back arching, Scarecrow sighed at the curve that her hips made.

Another siren screeched past and the Witch's whole body tensed in stress, feeling like gravity had tripped and fallen upon her, weighting her down and smothering her. The Doctor grunted at her wondrous tightness that enclosed his depraved cock, provoking to brutalize her hot pussy. The Witch dreaded his mania and the probability of disciplinary battery, if she so much as considered refusing his will.

No. Right here and now, he would not hurt her, but she knew he might.

“Your clenching flesh feels exquisite.” Scarecrow sighed and removed his hand from her mouth to reward her with a quick, lustful lick at her lips. “It’s almost sacrilegious.”

The Witch gasped, when he pulled out and turned her on her stomach, lifting her rear high up and pushing her chest down against the floor. She didn’t dare to move as he spread her legs with his own, sliding his hard, slithering cock against her lower lips. She heard rustling and was petrified by a foreign object that suddenly tickled at her opening. “What are you doing?” her voice quivered, when a smooth, curved object slowly slid inside her with the external part bending over her clit. The object conformed her nether-regions so perfectly it frightened her, most especially when Scarecrow also squeezed in diligently, cramming her cavity as the object immaculately pushed at her G-spot.

She never received an answer, when the Doctor already resumed assailing her. A faint click of a button and suddenly the object started a silent hum with gentle pulsation that bowled her over. Her jaws stretched open in a suppressed moan and she coiled in adoration of the fucking, prostrate under Scarecrow’s punitive grasp that spread her buttocks. She could feel her flesh jiggling obscenely at each collision of hips that the Doctor administered lavishly without restraint. The pulsating vibration delivered upon her dazzled her so much she almost forgot the looming thread of humiliation. She could hear Scarecrow sighing in delight as he grasped her by the waist strap of her harness belt, deepening the penetrations further. It was too divine, she wanted to bend more, but something told her she must resist.

This danger shuddered her and her inner conflict was splitting her in two, as was the Doctor’s zealous drive to unhinge her. She hated being reduced to this, but she would have also hated to subvert his thrall. Another click and the vibration grew stronger. She could not help but moan with a sigh at the wondrous device that expedited warm pleasure while she clawed the parquet floor in undisputed despair to come.

And sooner than she thought, she stiffened as she reached orgasm, fighting against the heavenly shudder that swept over her. The Doctor’s grip tightened and he rammed deep within her, groaning, sated for becoming undone. The vibrating ceased just before it started to feel uncomfortable. Calmed down by the soft petting of her right thigh, the Witch felt blissfully warm and languid by her release, yet unsafe for her lack of energy and the never-ending peril of being caught.

“Fascinating little trinket, isn’t it?” Scarecrow spoke, huffing, but the Witch didn’t answer while he carefully pulled out to conceal himself. He never removed the object – only ceremonially moved the crotch piece of the Witch’s lingerie back in place and lowered her hems.

The Witch wrinkled her nose by this as she straightened and sat down. She felt dirty and slimy. Sweaty and sticky. She had never wanted to have a shower as badly as she wanted now, but she did not question the Doctor’s intentions. This was most definitely a part of his experiments – a way to test her resilience and obedience. She did not like it one bit. She could already feel her lingerie slowly becoming soiled by the Scarecrow’s loads. It was disgusting.

“Get on the front seat.” He suddenly spoke, already leaving the trunk and the Witch jumped by the mere suspicion that they would be discovered. But no one was in sight at the main street as she quickly took her place on the passenger seat.

They drove across Bleake and all the way to the other side of Miagani. They crossed _Trigate Bridge_ to mainland Gotham in complete silence, streetlights flowing past and creating fleeting shadows. Scarecrow steered into the Industrial District, to _North Gotham Dock_ , where waves mightily churned against the quay. The Witch had never been to this part of the city. Everything seemed decrepit. Left and forgotten. But, she assumed, business ran despite all this. Industrial districts always seemed like this in Gotham, no matter the location. Scarecrow parked behind the Dock, beneath the loading bay. An unforgiving, damp sea air blew, when the two got out.

The Witch wanted to wince at the displeasing feel of Scarecrow's yields staining her lingerie further as she followed him into the building. He led her through the corridor into the main hall, where the Militia troops had already gathered. Awkwardly, the Witch assumed her place further away from the mastermind of tonight's operation, yet kept her distance from the troops. Their number seemed lesser than before. She switched off the night-vision.

Suspense took a grip about the place as the Doctor sighed in disappointment, crossing his hands behind his back. “Explain.” A simple word with much signifigance.

A man stepped forth. Captain Jenner was not present. The Witch worried he had been caught. “There was setback with the security system.”

“Who were in charge?” The Doctor's authority exuded in its impeccable ability to seep into the core of everyone, who heard his demanding voice.

Another man parted from the crowd. “It was Wilson's group.” He eyed the Witch and she furrowed her brows. “There was an unexpected counter measure, when we breached the database.”

The Witch was appalled. “Are you saying there was a blank in my report?” she questioned, tightness in her tone, completely disregarding the commandment of speaking unless spoken to.

The grunt never looked at her again, while the Doctor stood in silence. “I was there. The alarms went off immediately after downloading the data.” the man explained.

Disbelief contorted the Witch's face. “That's a lie! Sure we live in an age of advanced technology, but those alarms couldn't possibly have been triggered by just hacking the computers. It was a trip alarm, even I know that!”

“Enough.” Scarecrow spoke and the Witch tightened at the complete silence that took over the hall. “There is no reason to point fingers, for I hold you all equally responsible for the foul-up.”

The Witch went cold by the stern look that he directed to her.

“You were each given a task and if one of you failed, everyone failed. There is no excuse to absolve this.” He was displeased and everyone knew it.

 _'His well-trained voice is of enormous power as it's based on many years of practice, and an iron will of a certain kind... Melodiously it carries wide, pervades each space, regardless of its size.'_   the Witch thought as a few heads lowered in the crowd. Even though the Doctor did not blame anyone in particular, she knew that it was none other than herself, who was certain to receive most of the punishment.

“Be it a blank in Witch's report or your sheer incapability of following instructions, the mission was successful despite this setback. Yet, we cannot take this repercussion lightly.” he spoke to the crowd.

The Witch startled as she felt the small device attached to her privates hum momentarily. It was a quick quiver that jolted her, chasing her cavity into strain. She noted the Doctor glance at her, allusion in his cold eyes, and she fought against the repugnant feeling of his seed trickling down along her inner thighs. She pursed her lips, when another swift vibration bullied her. She was relieved that the device was silent, but also afraid of herself being the one to unwillingly expose this obscene play-behind-scenes to the others.

She barely noted a tiny remote control in the Doctor's hand, when he addressed the group. “We are to lay low for the time being. As you well know, the _Bright Knight_ has caught up with us. He is surely to investigate and inform the Batfamily about tonight's events. The Witch, though caught and interrogated by him, handled the situation admirably, but he's suspicious. Connors, where are your men?”

“Escaped just barely. They have spread as per your instructions.”

“Good.” Scarecrow once more eyed the Witch and a faint pulsation started throbbing at her labia. It was a cocktail of discomfort and forced arousal. She felt sore, yet the hidden stimulation found its way to tease her senses. She bit her lip in effort to keep up her posture that the Doctor had instructed, but the sensation beneath her garments blurred her mind. “Is something the matter, Witch?” Scarecrow spoke, his velvety voice resonating through the hall. “Is there something you would like to add?” His tone was patronizing and there was expectation in his eyes.

Though he could not see, the Witch was certain he knew she narrowed her eyes at him in spite. “I couldn't help but notice Captain Jenner's absence.” The crowd mumbled and turned their heads.

The Doctor cocked his brows. “Well.” he started. The Witch clenched her teeth, when the vibration began a different rhythm, slitghly more intense, peaking and descending. “He has retired for time being. He is having.. _a furlough_ to recover from this ordeal.” Regardless of this mysterious statement, each and every one knew that Captain Jenner had come in contact with fear toxin. “Anything else?”

“No, Sir.” was all she breathed, suffocating the arousal that kept on poking at her.

The Doctor nodded with a sneer. “Splendid.” The Witch sighed, when the device finally turned off. “Now spread out. Make sure you are not seen. Disappear. You will be contacted, when the time is right.”

The Witch watched the men leave in somewhat orderly fashion and she was about to follow suit, until she was halted by Scarecrow's words: “Witch, you stay.”

She stopped in her tracks, and Scarecrow noted her shoulders slump as she sighed in desolation. Her unwillingness to stay was in plain sight as was her tension. Tonight had not gone quite according to plan, but it had nevertheless been successful in his experiment on the Witch. She was high-strung and unclean, just like he intended.

When the last man exited the place, he silently approached and traced a touch up the woman's left arm. The Witch shivered, when his ashen, calloused fingers slid to her neckline. What a fragile little thing she was. “You have violated my orders.” The woman held her breath as he burrowed his face in her hair. So fragile. “Even after I have specifically instructed you to hold your tongue during meetings, yet you made yourself heard without permission.” He could feel her rapid pulse under his touch. Oh, how her anxiety teased him so! He parted from the Witch ever so slightly. “Put your hands on your knees.”

The Witch complied, slowly bending down, and the Doctor was certain of her reluctancy towards disciplinary measurements. He snaked his fingers around her leash. “What do you have to say for yourself?” He flipped the hems over the Witch's waist to unveil her behind.

She cringed, when he fondled her bare skin. “He tried to blame me for what happened.” the woman spoke, venom in her words. She yelped silently, when a harsh, open palm came in contact with the right cheek of her ass.

“That is not an excuse to speak.” He slapped her again and admired the suppleness of her rump and the vigorous sound that it produced. Another slap. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”

He knew that, in her mind, she was cursing Nigma and the Militia into the deepest pits of Hell. “If the blame was to fall to all of us, wasn't I then obliged disclose what happened?”

The Witch held in a cry, when Scarecrow smacked her ass harder. What a wonderfully rosy color her charming pallor developed! How wonderfully her flesh absorbed the impact again and again! “No.” He adored her whimpers as he spanked her, allowing himself to grow quite turned on by this corporal punsihment. “Let's try again: what do you have to say for yourself?”

He kept an even pace with his slapping, harrassing the Witch's senses further. He knew she was nearing tears as his scorn drove needles into her. Her legs trembled, pain and humiliation prickling her. “I'm sorry.” she finally whimpered.

That was all he needed to hear: her assent to having offended her boundaries. Scarecrow petted her tender skin and admired his handiwork. All his. “Very good. You may now wash yourself. There is a shower in the locker room through that door on the left. When you are done, meet me back here.”

The Witch left the hall briskly, without a word and never meeting his eye. Scarecrow could not resist cracking a smile at her humility.


	13. Noctuids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while. Work has been killing me both physically and mentally.. But I haven't given up yet! A new rush of inspiration has risen and I can't wait to write it all down. For now, enjoy this new chapter!

Crane entered a nearby barrack and switched on the lights. It was a neat little compartment for a humble worker to stay in. A neat little fold-up bed, a tiny couch, a nightstand with an old radio on top, a few cupboards, a mini fridge, a small microwave oven and a tiny sink. Nothing exceptional, nothing distinctive. Just a place to sleep in after a hard day's work. North Gotham Dock was not abandoned but another business front to the Falcones. Though the Doctor did not care for the Roman (nor did, Crane believed, the mob leader care for him either), Carmine Falcone was kind enough to rent this place as a temporary headquarter. A home away from home, so to speak.

Crane opened the cupboards. A tin container of coffee, small dish of cubed sugar, four mugs (each of different variety), an opened package of oatmeal raisin cookies (probably gone stale long ago), some coffee filters and a tray of assorted teabags. He sighed. A boring and mediocre tea selection, but he took the set out anyway. He also filled the water boiler and turned it on.

While waiting, he flipped on the radio and tuned through the stations, until the white noise ceased. Gentle keying of a kinderklavier, plucking of a lute and soft sounds of bells and glockenspiel that harmonized into a melancholic wall of sound. He scoffed and serenely ambled out of the barrack. He approached the window. It had been a while since the last time he had been to these parts of the city. It seemed like ages ago. So much, yet so little had changed since the rise and fall of the ultimate (failure of a) prison, _Arkham City_. He had spent most of the time back then in hiding, healing. Experimenting, scheming, growing. A time he did not care to return to.

Scarecrow silently watched the sky billow with darkened clouds and how the waves crashed violently against the bay as the furious breeze howled in the night and rocked the docked boats. He wondered whatever had happened to his boat. Probably confiscated by GCPD for evidence. Pity. It had been a decent boat. It would have been quite useful for disciplinary experiments. The Witch completely trapped, nowhere to go, only the vastness of the sea around..

He heard someone enter the hall, gently in tune with the faint, nigh cosmic sounds that played in the radio. He did not bother to turn around. He already knew it was Ms. Geier standing behind him. He could feel her burning stare in the back of his head, sour, casting the evil eye. “Storm is coming.” he stated.

Ada was silent, when she stepped beside him, observing the outside world. Tiny, sparse droplets of rain got caught against the vast window panes. “I should get going then.” she murmured and gave out a hand.

Scarecrow turned to her. Her hair was still damp and tangled. She was holding her mask, the harness belt and her stockings and shoes in her lap. In her other hand lay the curved, smooth vibrator. Curious little thing indeed. He took it and slipped inside his belt pouch. “You should stay. Not only because of the storm, but also for what happened tonight. For all we know we are still on the lookout. At least over night, stay.”

Ada wrinkled her little nose at him, clearly not pleased with the idea.

He lowered his brows and spoke sternly: “I can't have you go and jeopardize everything we worked for.”

She stared at him for another silent moment, until she sighed.

“I'm making tea, would you like some?”

“Fine.”

He led her to the barrack, where the water had already boiled and strings played. “Aren't your feet cold?” The reinforced concrete floor had no heating system. Furthermore, the heating in this whole place was kept to minimum.

The woman slumped onto the couch and placed her effects on the nightstand. “No.” she answered and nothing more. Scarecrow closed the barrack door and cranked up the radiator anyway.

He picked up two mugs and put an _Earl Grey_ teabag in each before pouring in the water. “Is there something on your mind?” he asked to break the silence.

Ada shrugged. “Nothing out of ordinary.”

“Define ordinary.” Scarecrow took the tea bag from one of the mugs and spun it around a spoon to squeeze out the remaining tea. He did the same to the other.

“Just exhausted by.. everything. Will I ever get over the anxiety, will I ever eventually grow immunity to your toxin or will I simply lose my mind.. Will my hair fall out from stress..”

Crane chuckled as he brought Ada her tea and seated himself on the bed. It was indeed a concern if she would become immune and that was exactly why the Doctor needed to reconsider the dosages. “Your hair looks fine, if that puts you at ease.” There was a lone, grey strand of hair at her temple, but he decided not to mention about it.

Ada cocked her brows and blew in her hot beverage. “Wopee.” There was no enthusiasm whatsoever.

“Your concerns are completely normal and justified. Rest assured, if you are in need of medical attention, you will be treated accordingly.” Scarecrow did not lie with this claim. He knew Ada was distrustful of him, but when it came to issues that could hinder the experiments he would do everything in his power to treat her.

Ada drank from her tea and seemed thoughtful. “How do you get these places? The penthouse, the factory.. this?”

“Just simple connections, dearie. People may lay down their battle axes for the time being, if it were for a common goal.”

She raised her brows. He assumed she was rethinking her life decisions, of broadening her circle of associates. “You must have a great network then.”

He snorted. “I suppose. There is always room for improvement. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.. How can you afford all this?” It must have been a question she had been plagued by for a good time now.

He also drank of his tea. ”Willing funders are a wondrous thing. Offering my expertise to paying customers is also quite profitable, which is a livelihood that I assume you also exploit.”

Scarecrow was right. Ada's gaze drifted. “Who are these funders, exactly?”

He furrowed his brows. The woman was asking a whole lot of questions today. “What does it matter to you?”

Her eyes suddenly met his. “Is Veronica Cale one of your funders?”

Transfixed by this unexpected query, he stared at her for the longest of moments. She may be the Witch, but she was not a psychic. Was she? He tilted his head, mystified by her ominous gaze that made him second guess her capability of telepathy. “What makes you think that?”

“Her company has been struggling financially since their relocation to Gotham. Apparently the morality of their policies doesn't sit well with a lot of Gothamites. A break-in would be a convenient way to gain insurance money without raising suspicion. You knowingly sent out people, including myself, in danger, to carry out a needless task just to raise funds and help an acquaintance with a sham.”

Scarecrow finished his tea. “Again, what does it matter to you?” He watched her sink into a state of disbelief. She was not wrong to accuse him of taking a gamble with the expense of her and others. Yet, it was no concern of hers. She was a mere accomplice in the eyes of law. “It was an agreement between me and Ms. Cale. True, I did send you out on a risky mission, but it was necessary. The data and equipment you stole are imperative to my plans. It is true that I did not run the ulterior motive of the heist by you because, in the very end, it is no concern of yours. Besides, even you've had commissions of similar nature yourself.” His austere stare corroded the every little bit of forte she had build around herself. He saw it dissolving into hazy wisps, until the woman was abased.

“Only I haven't run the risk of endangering anyone else but myself.”

He lowered his chin and raised a brow. “Have you? Where do you think the drugs go? How can you be certain that the drugs are for recreational use? How can you be certain that you have not played a part in, say, poisoning innocent people? Perhaps children? You may be young and even impressionable at times, but you are not credulous. Your hands are red, Ms. Geier, and you know it.”

This woman was not perfect and she could not hide the things she has done. She was foolish to think of herself a better person than him. Sure she may not be structuring a greater scheme – her scale was not as wide as his. She may be the better of two evils, but did it make her pure? No. She was a flat out drug dealer, a willing accessory to other crimes and unconcerned by bystanders. An escapist.

Ada let her gaze drop down to the floor and the Doctor smiled. A thorn had been planted deep into her chest.

“There is no need to be abashed here. You are what you are and I am what I am. Both flawed, but nonetheless human.”

Ada still did not look at him but finished her tea and settled the mug by the radio that still played the haunting tunes of strings. The poor thing was a mess, but all the while delicious to defile. To see the reach of her mental descend.. To have everything that she was begging at his feet, writhing, her spirit sizzling with psychical pangs. And so he would take it all again and again, saturate her body and mind with horror and utmost pleasure time after time, until his thirst of her was sated. What Ms. Geier did not know was just how unquenchable this thirst was.

“It has been a long night.” he told, standing up. “You can sleep on the bed. I take the couch.”

Ada did not hesitate to shuffle to the bed and crawl under the blanket, hiding, surely wishing that at least in her dreams she would be safe.

Scarecrow shut off the lights and flipped off the radio. “Good night, Ms. Geier.”

 

 

Ada did not sleep well that night. She was bedeviled by Scarecrow's grip about her psyche. Those wicked weaves he spun – they trapped her tighter and tighter no matter how many threads she managed to sever. Though the charm of the webs were enthralling, they were soaked in debauchery of the most evil kind. His deviance knew no limits.

She peeked beneath her blankets to look at him. He was still there – she could barely see through the darkness – fast asleep on the couch. The couch seemed uncomfortable for being too small for Scarecrow’s height, with his head and neck against the armrest, while his legs hung over the other. Silently, he lay there, on his back and hands crossed over his chest. He seemed dead.

Careful to not make a sound, Ada crept out of the bed and slinked closer to the Doctor. Her sight starting to adjust to the darkness, she crouched beside him and watched his chest calmly rise and fall. No, he was not dead. But how easy would it be to off him right here, right now?

Ada studied the hoses that snaked over Scarecrow's chest, the ampoules and canisters filled with his chemicals. The syringes of his wrist device were in off-position, needles retracted. She cautiously traced a fingertip over a steel framed glass vial all the way to the long, sharp needle, but never coming to the tip. How easy would it be to just switch on the device and stab him with these needles, pumping him up with all his supplies.. But she saw no apparent switch or a button to use this thing.

Her gaze drifted to his face as she craned above him. He seemed so peaceful. So serene in his sleep. She gently touched a shred on his mask. The skin beneath was so very ashen, eyes sunk in their dark sockets. The surrounding skin seemed slightly lined. The crow's feet were most probably due to stress and fatigue, but Ada couldn't help wondering just exactly how old the Doctor was. Sure he was brilliant and must have been among the youngest psychiatrists in his time. Back in Arkham, she had read his profile, but at the time his age had seemed indifferent to her – she had been more engaged on his motives and criminal history. It actually struck her quite a lewd thought to assume him being possibly fortysomething, maybe even nearing fifty!

She flinched, when Scarecrow's face twitched ever so slightly after she had softly grazed his brow. She remained absolutely still as he sighed deep. Her eyes fell upon the noose around his neck. How easy would it be to tighten that rope and strangle him. How easy would it be to take her pillow and smother him at this instant.

No. Not now. Now was not the time. She could not break these chains about her. Yet, the lock the Doctor had created _did_ have a key. Soon.

Ada quietly crept back to bed.

 

 

That night, Crane had a dream. A vision of sorts. He was still lying on that same couch in the same barrack in North Gotham Dock, on his back and his hands folded upon his chest, watching the darkness about the room. Through that single window, on the wall where the bed was, bleak moonlight shone, illuminating the space with its bluish tint. Ada was not in bed – only a messy heap of a blanket and a pillow occupied the mattress. In this deadly silence, the Doctor wondered where had she gone to, while a strange haze gently sailed above him. Incoherent, barely audible whispers.

He sat up and waved a hand through the haze, coldness slithering between his fingers. The haze dissolved into tiny wisps that soon disappeared as he looked down at his hands. Slowly, he clenched and unclenched his fingers, feeling numb. He surveyed the room. Everything seemed as before, save for the sheer hoar-frost that covered each surface, even though it wasn't particularly cold nor humid inside. Some static flickered momentarily at the door and he needed to blink hard to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

He stood up slowly, his legs feeling stiff as he took the first step. His feet felt prickly as he approached the door, the disturbance now dissipating. Grasping the door handle seemed somewhat unreal and he thought about it for a short moment. Was he really getting out through this door or was it just his imagination? He glanced over his shoulder to see a ghostly figure of himself still sleeping on the couch. White plumes of mist drifted from the mouth of his reflection as he breathed. With each breath, Crane observed, seemed like a face was forming close to his sleeping self's face, watching and smiling. A translucent hand crept across the sleeper's chest. A sylph?

Crane closed his eyes and once he opened them again, there was no one. Curious these visions. He exited the barrack. Behind the wide window panes, the night was still and clement. No storm, even the waters were tranquil. For a reason unbeknownst to him, he felt drawn to the window. The night seemed spectral and there was a sense of ominosity about the outside world. He was not sure what to make of it. This was just a dream after all. He grasped the handle of one window pane. He was surprised by how much effort he needed put into cranking it, until he managed to get it open.

A gentle breeze caressed his features. The air smelled of sea water and birch. Quite unusual. There were no birch trees in Gotham. He took a deep breath, watching the stars align beneath goddess Nyx's grand cloak of darkness. There were no city lights. It was as though entire Gotham was asleep. Slumbering away, cloistering its citizens into dead-like dreaming. He noted something moving in the horizon.

He was given quite a startle, when something black darted straight towards him through the night sky. He barely managed to evade it as it flew inside. His heart raced as he listened the creature encircle the hall, flapping its giant wings softly. A bat? He couldn't focus on where the creature went and he was almost certain it was preying on him. His throat tightened as his mind suddenly fluttered with terrors and flashbacks from past he thought he would never have to face ever again. Flap.. flap.. flap. The wingstrokes hummed in his ears. Shadows rose and fell upon the floor and over the walls, taunting him. He held his breath as celestial, syncopated sounds teased his eardrums. Flap.. flap.. flap.

And then, the creature finally started to descend and its flight path grew smaller. It graciously came lower, closer and into the light. The Doctor sighed. A butterfly. A huge moth to be exact. He watched it descend closer, slowly beating its dark, majestic wings. This insect, there was something about it that seemed otherworldly. Its splendor was elusive, cryptic. Somehow seductive.

Crane reached out, still a little addled by the moth's sudden entrance. Tiny particles of dust blew at each wingstroke as it elegantly landed upon the back of his hand. The wings of this moth were grand, the span larger than his whole hand. The pattern was of much detail in earthly tones. A kaleidoscopic, white line reached across the moth's wings, connecting in mystical, purplish tones at the middle. He had never seen anything like it before, but he was sure this creature was lost from its natural habitat. The moth softly stretched its wings as it pattered across his hand. What a fascinating little critter.

He tilted his head, when the moth suddenly took off and fluttered into distance. Instead of disappearing, it seemed to become larger as darkness began swallowing the place. The wings lengthened and the body appeared to take on a taller form amidst tendrils of shadows that surrounded the creature. Despite the thickening gloom, he perceived the wings morph into long, silken, airy veils. Bare, slender legs touched the floor. An elegant figure formed, when the cloths settled. The creature turned around, but he could not make out its face. Only the earth-colored fabrics that licked the floor and those milky white, delicate legs. What an enchanting creature indeed.

The droning grew louder and his head was starting to ache. How curious to experience such sudden, sharp pain within a dream. The lucidity of this vision was most perplexing. The creature before him.. It just stared at him and he was overwhelmed by uneasiness merged with a peculiar sense of seduction. Without so much as a warning, the creature sprang into flight and dashed past him through the window back outside, where the skies had grown black and darkness was seeping inside (and quite literally, he marveled). The unearthly noise filling his head and blurring his vision, he was barely able to observe the magnificent, earth-colored wings spread wide in the distance, before he woke up.

It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He felt fatigued, like a succubus had been sitting upon him. He sat up and jumped a little at seeing Ada stand there only a few meters away from him with her back turned and stretching, her spine letting out hefty crackling sounds. But what bewildered him the most was the large, velvety throw over her shoulders. With her arms reached out and whole body flexing, the bedspread resembled wings. There was something about that earth-toned pattern..

When Ada had finished what seemed like a very enjoyable stretch, she reached for a mug on the draining board. "Would you like some coffee?" She was already rinsing his mug from last night.

"Gladly." Scarecrow responded and stood up. His head suddenly started to throb. How displeasing. He was considering to down a painkiller, until Ada finally turned to him with a mug full of fragrant, black coffee. He thanked her and immediately took a sip. Much better. Yet, a doubt arose that she had put something in his coffee. He shrugged off the notion. Ada was an opportunist, but she had learned the meaning of consequences.

Something seemed different about Ada. It wasn't her hair that she had tied in a messy bun atop her head. Something about her eyes? Not that either, though they did lack the usual cosmetics.

No, it was her _entirety_ that seemed.. off.

Her hairless brows knitted. ”What?”

”Nothing.” Scarecrow responded. ”Just contemplating on our future sessions.”

She snorted and drank of her own coffee. A typical reaction from her, yet the Doctor could not shake out the thought of this woman plotting something. Maybe she already had set something in motion, or was it just the dream he had? He needed to tread wisely and reinforce control.

”Tell me,” he began, ”how versed are you in dream interpretation?”

Ada hung her right hand horizontally flat in the air and tilted it from side to side in a gesture that her knowledge was decent.

”Do you know what is the symbolism of a moth?” He drank of his coffee.

Ada seemed thoughtful for a short while as her gaze sailed in the ceiling. ”If my memory serves, moth in a dream had one of the most varied meaning. It could be a warning sign that you have lost the connection with yourself or that you are overlooking some minor details, or that someone close or near to you is an imposition. Moths could also be associated with insight, intuition and mystery. It could even represent temptation, desire and alluring energies.”

”Alluring energies?” Scarecrow echoed.

”Female moths are known for having strong pheromones to attract males.”

Curious. The moth in his dream had indeed been a female. Or at least he assumed. Maybe there was something to his dream that had a connection with the waking world. It was for certain that he needed to pay more attention to the details. Maybe the moth indeed had come to warn him of some oversight, something he had disregarded.

Suddenly it came to him: _Black Witch moth_. That was the name of the species he had dreamed of. He decided to withhold this fact as another thought occurred to him: ”Have you ever concocted a potion that affects sleep?”

Ada's head leaned to the right ever so slightly at the question. ”I have a herbal infusion to sustain a good night's sleep back at my shop.”

”What's in it?”

”Hops, heather, cat nip and St John's wort.”

”Do you have it on you?”

Her brows furrowed deeper. ”No.”

”Mind if I have a look at your effects?”

She shrugged, unfastened her utility belt and gave it to him.

He placed the belt upon the draining board in a precise manner, intrigued to finally find out what was she carrying with her. Starting from the leftmost pocket, he unsnapped its magnet button to reach the contents. A small set of keys and a matte black credit card holder. The keys were bundled with a keyring. A small black stone dangled from the keyring, perhaps obsidian. There was a lazer cut, runic symbol on the card holder. He had not seen such symbol before. He put the items back into the pocket.

In the next pouch he found a stack of small, white envelopes. ”Don't open them, unless you want an unbearable rash.” Ada told and the Doctor knew these envelopes must contain the same powder she had used upon Terry Bolton, the first impartial test subject.

He nodded and put the envelopes back in. ”Very well.” There was a hip flask hanging by a carabiner next to the middlemost pouch. The flask, as he had witnessed before, contained her flammable liquid. The formula yet eluded him. In the middle pouch, there were an assortment of tiny, unmarked ziplock bags and the familiar dropper cap bottle of her painkiller medicine. He held the bags in view and turned to Ada. ”What are these?”

Ada seemed displeased by his rummaging through her things, but answered anyway: ”Siberian gingseng, nettle, rhodiola, cough drops and butterscotch.”

Crane raised a brow as he studied the bag containing hard candy in clear wrappings. The herbs, cough drops and painkiller were evidently for health maintenance, but the confectioneries raised a question.

”The candy is for quick energy.”

Crane let out a silent chuckle and put the bags back in. To the middle pouch's right, there was a row of holsters for small syringes, two of them with a green cap and the other two with a blue cap. Each of them contained translucent liquid. He took one for closer inspection.

”It's lidocaine. The ones next to them are salvia tincture.”

He let out a contemplative sigh. ”For benumbing someone?”

She nodded in response, but nothing more.

He glanced at her way, imprinting on his mind the fact that she had local anesthetics. Each of these syringes seemed still sealed and unused. ”How often have you been in a situation, where you needed to use these?”

”Only a couple of times. They are my last resort.”

Of course they were, Scarecrow thought and holstered the syringe. He needed to be mindful of her gear if she ever disobeyed. The next pocket contained a handful of small, dark green plastic capsules.

”Smoke pellets with a little capsaicin.”

And last but not least, the rightmost pocket, which contained her cellphone. A small, decent smartphone. Nothing especial about this device. There was an envelope icon at the upper corner of the screen, indicating a new unread message. He decided to respect her privacy for now and pocketed the device back in its rightful place.

”Well?” Ada spoke, her tone hinting just a little arrogance in a told-you-so manner.

”Very good.” he confessed and returned the belt to Ada. Going through her equipment left him oddly unsatisfied. He knew she was up to something, for sure, but nothing on her proved his hunch correct. There must be something else..

”Satisfied?”

He raised his chin at her sudden boost of confidence. Just because he had been proven wrong about her having any compounds that she might have used on him didn't mean she was allowed to break her boundaries. ”Watch your tone, young lady.” He could see how she fought to not get offended by the nickname. A sudden, tiny little jolt tugged his lower stomach. ”And no, I am not satisfied.”

She batted her lashes to keep her composure the best she could. ”Then what is it that you want, Sir?” She carefully underlined her words, clearly growing impatient.

The Doctor gently cocked his head as a subtle hint for Ada to lower herself. He also dug out the vibrator from his belt pouch. ”I want you to put this on, get down and give me head.”

In disbelief, Ada's eyes widened just a fraction at his command.

”Now.”

She took the smooth vibrator and timidly lifted her hems to hide the device underneath. A hint of discomfort momentarily tugged her face for being watched and instructed for his amusement. She quickly went down to unfasten his belt.

It pleased him to watch her efficiency as she already swallowed his slowly hardening member, enclosing him in the warm wetness of her mouth. He sighed in pleasure thinking of her hot mantrap growing just as wet as her delightful mouth, if not wetter. He took out the tiny remote control and clicked the button to deliver a gentle wave-pattern vibration to the hands-free toy. Ada let out a silent moan that made him shiver as she sucked him, engorging him like she was meant to. The way the ball of her titanium tongue ring rolled over his length, giving that thrilling, extra little kick to his pleasure was most satisfactory, especially with her both hands deepening the labor. “If you come before I do..” he told and brought his left hand into Ada’s hair to drive himself deeper into her mouth. “..there will be pain.” He licked the upper row of his teeth in luster, when she moaned again and started bobbing her head more vigorously, heeding his words as her tongue snaked all over him.

Scarecrow knew she had succumbed to amorous delight, yet feared for corporal punishment. She knew he wouldn’t fatally hurt her, but he might just as well, and he intended to keep it that way. Ada was much too addicted to his authority. The power he had over her and the awe he had incorporated.. It all crept under her skin and her body eagerly accepted the infestation. She was all his. A pretty little puppet.

He pushed another button on the remote to amp up the force and frequency of the vibration, the ascension and descent growing faster and stronger. He smiled at Ada’s squirming as her lustful sucking brought her closer against him, clinging to his legs. The remote control was quite handy: there was a small, gentle vibrator in it, to know exactly which mode he was using on the silent, hidden toy. He pushed the button again just to tease her further.

Thrusting himself deeper and hitting her pharynx just for the fun of it, he made her gag and fight for air. Tears forming, she pushed at him to gasp, but he grasped her head and started fucking that delicious mouth. “Look at me.” he ordered and was most satisfied by the beaten look about her, at his feet with his cock filling her tiny mouth, her right hand clutching his leg brace and her left digging into the leather of his trousers. Her reddened eyes fixated on him, the sight of her brought him a shiver throughout his body, his muscles tightening like many times before, titillating his senses as he approached the peak.

Gently pulling at Ada’s hair, Crane hissed at the flood of gratification that surged over him from above. The contractions doubled him over as spasms of his orgasm rolled deep within and burst into Ada’s mouth, making her retch and cough. He juddered at her struggling and he withdrew only by little to let her catch her breath. He battered the remote buttons to bear a forceful, continuous vibration upon the woman, rampaging the walls and structures of her shrine.

The humming now barely audible, her obstructed cries were the perfect crown to his still pulsating cock as she coiled, drool and semen dripping down along her chin in adoration of the blissful stimulation she had been granted. What a lecherous sight to behold, when she finally came with a whimper, and she grasped him harder, her tongue laving him in gratitude. She shook uncontrollably and he let the device buzz just a while longer to squeeze out the rest of her mind-blowing orgasm, before he switched off the toy. "Now, swallow. Cleanse me with your tongue."

Ada frowned as Crane pulled out, and she swallowed hard, looking like his loads had been much more plentiful than expected. He sighed as she once more enclosed his slowly softening member with her mouth and sucked at his full length twice before coming to his tip, paying extra attention to drain his pipes. He nearly let out a chuckle at the curious feeling and the demeaned look about her face.

When she was finished, he hid himself, watching Ada breathe heavily and wipe her mouth. She swallowed and quickly stood up, looking somehow shaken, maybe even a little sick to her stomach. She dug out under her skirt, removed the toy and left it on the draining board, while she washed her face. Yes, she was completely inveigled. “For now, I am satisfied.” Scarecrow stated and she harrumphed.

The Doctor picked up the vibrator, rinsed it and slipped it back into the pouch. Ada still seemed a little tearful, but at least Scarecrow now knew that he still had control over her. She was daft if she so much as thought of crossing him. Perhaps, for now, it was best for her to leave. To let the anticipation build up. He could also use some time to device the next experiment himself. “You may now leave, if you wish.”

Wearily, Ada raised her brows.

Scarecrow picked up an abandoned, dark navy twill jacket from a rack near the door. Ada let him dress her with the jacket, and he told her to travel unnoticed. The jacket was ill-fitting – she was practically swimming in it – but it would have to do. “I will call you for the next checkup. Now go, and do not be seen.”

Ada picked up her mask and gloves and pocketed them. When Scarecrow led her outside the barrack, the door at the far end of the hall opened. A tall, blonde woman in her mid-thirties entered with a newspaper tightly clasped under her arm. She was wearing oversized, gradient sunglasses, an expensive anorak, dark grey formal trousers, fur-trimmed leather gloves and fancy heels. She had an expectant look about her sophisticated face, yet there was a touch of surprise, most probably by Ada’s presence. What was she doing here?

Ada looked at Scarecrow, confused, and he cocked his head in gesture for her to leave. Like a good subject, Ada walked past the woman straight-backed and confident. Scarecrow noted the two exchange quick glances and a nod, before Ada reached the door. Ada seemed addled, when her eyes met his for the final time, before she left.

“A pert little thing.” the sophisticated woman stated and took off her glasses. It was not an insult, but it was not a compliment either. “A friend of yours?”

Scarecrow bowed his head. “Good afternoon, Ms. Cale. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A white toothed smile spread across Veronica Cale’s face as she approached, grasping the newspaper. On her way, she quickly halted within arm's reach and gave out the paper. Her nose wrinkled just slightly, clearly having not expected him to look this horrifying in person. The Doctor didn’t mind. On the contrary: he welcomed any uneasiness directed at him. “Last night was a success.” Veronica told as he took the paper and read the headline.

 _‘BREAK IN AT CALE-ANDERSON PHARMACEUTICALS! Late last night, top secret schematics and highly expensive lab equipment had been stolen from the renowned pharmaceutical company. Despite police interference at CAP’s Ryker Heights’ location, the culprits are still on the loose. GCPD withholds further information, but confirms the suspicion of Militia involvement with last night’s events. Chief commissioner Bullock requests any suspicious activity to be reported to GCPD.’_ There was a picture of the blown up front entrance of the Pharmaceuticals and police masking tape.

“A little careless on your men’s part, but a success nonetheless.” In the corner of his eye, Scarecrow perceived Ms. Cale circle him, looking around the hall with slight disgust in her face. Offices and cleanrooms were her natural habitats, not some decrepit, musty dock.

Scarecrow thumbed through the pages. “A minor glitch.” he responded. There was no mention of the Witch in the articles. Good. A link between himself and the Militia had been drawn, though, but only in a past tense – a reminder of _City of Fear_.

“But even a minor glitch may have terrible consequences.” Veronica’s mature voice was serious.

Scarecrow folded the paper and returned it. “I assure you, my men have been instructed to disappear. There is no connection between the two of us, other than you being the victim and myself having used the Militia's services in the past. There is nothing to link this as a sham.. _was_ , until you showed up here. How did you find me, anyway?”

A cunning smile curled upon Veronica’s tinted lips. “I have my ways.”

So this is how it felt like, when he told the same to Ada. How ironic and unpleasant. “I see. And you couldn’t announce these good news over the phone or a simple e-mail?”

“I can’t have my connections be known. Although I have the insurance money, the case is still under investigation. Besides, news like this should be delivered in person. Makes the news more glorious, don’t you think? Other than that, I came to tell you that our deal is fulfilled. You can keep all what your men stole, like I promised, and you keep this thing wrapped under covers, as you promised.”

Scarecrow nodded deeply. “Not a soul besides us is aware of our deal.”

Ms. Cale suddenly stepped before him, her eyes dark and expressing great severity. “And the girl? Does she know?”

He raised his chin. “No.” he lied.

Ms. Cale sneered. “No need to be so coy, it’s clear that she is next in command after you. That or she is a _special_ escort. Truth be told, I never thought of you the kind of guy, who is, you know, _into_ that sort of thing.”

Scarecrow was starting to grow annoyed.

“Furthermore, I never would’ve guessed you were into gloomy girls such as that strange, scrawny little number. Don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty and all, but one would think you fancied like.. helpless, cheerleader kind of scrawny little numbers. You know, the blonde screamers in horror movies.”

What Veronica did not know was that Ada was surprisingly limber and strong for her size. Ada also knew how to land a painful strike, when you least expected. She was everything but a stereotype. “She does not know and she is not an escort. She is my assistant.”

Veronica’s face brightened in feigned amusement. “Is she now? That's what they're called today? Cute.”

Fed up with her hinting, the Doctor shot a meaningful glare at her and she flinched ever so slightly. A certain kind of timidness flashed in Veronica's eyes despite the grandeur that she wore. “Mind you, that _woman_ was an imperative member of my troops in bringing last night’s operation into fruition. _In the field_ , might I add. She was also in charge of improving my fear toxin. So, unless you want me to use said toxin on you, I advice you to keep your retorts to yourself.”

He watched Veronica's arrogant façade struggle to keep up the composure as she stared back at him, her gaze shifting between his eyes and mouth in silence. She was an upper-class woman and he could tell. Getting off her high horse was a difficult task. She spent a moment looking for a snide comment, but, as she found no beneficial reason for a comeback, she finally gave an empty smile. “So she’s not just for decoration, is she?”

If only she knew what an exquisite test subject Ms. Geier was. “Indeed.”

Veronica Cale chuckled. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” Truly a businesswoman. She knew when she had been bested and she walked out with dignity. “Thank you for your cooperation and I wish you best of luck with future endeavors.”

Despite Ms. Cale seemed slightly disgusted, Scarecrow shook her hand in return, accepting her civility. “Likewise.”


	14. Interface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little more "light-hearted" for change ;D

After dispatching Rose Hall Remedies shipments, Ada returned home, driving her old Chevrolet Bel Air and having a normal, smooth day for once what seemed like ages had passed since the last time. She had not heard from Scarecrow for a few days now. She was worried it was just another scheme of his or something big had happened (like him getting arrested, which she wouldn't mind at all!), but she tried not to think about it. She needed to enjoy herself while she still could.

Returning to regular life seemed homelier than ever. Everything seemed rosier than she remembered, as if a dark, perpetual cloud had been swept away. Somehow, even a dirty puddle seemed lovely. The dingy underground parking hall, where she left her car, seemed warm and welcoming. The worn name-plate in her parking spot brought her a sense of pride she hadn't felt since she first got the space.

She walked the regular straight path to above from the moist darkness that didn't seem as gloomy as usual. She passed the same old homeless man on her way and smiled at him. She gave him the few quarters she had laying around in her pocket. The man returned her smile with gratefulness embellishing his unwashed, wrinkled face, and it made her feel warm as she carried on to her street. She passed the old dented trash bin, and even the childish, halfhearted graffiti on the brick wall seemed artistic. Finally arriving to Rose Hall's front door, Ada sighed wistfully and unlocked the door. Sometimes routine and predictability were the most savory spices of life.

And it all fell to ruin, when she met a figure standing in her lounge. Within that second she tossed her invoices and bills unto the floor and went for the switchblade in her pocket, too fast to even register who or what she was up against.

”𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦!” The voice echoed a little like someone speaking into a tin can.

Ada halted, staring at the figure in her lounge. He – no, _it_ – was covered in off-white plastic and brushed metal, yet the parts it was comprised of seemed scrapped, like someone had built it with anything and everything they could find. There was an exclamation point on the monitor screen that served as a head.

”Stand over there.” Her heart pounding, Ada pointed at a spot just a little to the right, further away from her furniture, remaining at the door herself, making sure she could use the door as a cover if things escalated. The machine did as she told, keeping its jointed hands in view. ”Who or what are you? Who sent you here?” She held up the knife even though she knew there was no way she could pierce the robot's shell. And she was most certain the robot knew this as well.

”𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐀𝟏𝟎𝟔. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐢𝐝.”

Ada snorted. ”Are you kidding me? What ever for?”

A silent buzz, when the droid's monitor flashed to read a colon and a forward slash. It shrugged. ”𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

Ada relaxed just a little and let out a sigh. ”I didn't ask any more help. I already paid him for the Cale-Anderson case. We're even.”

The robot tilted its monitor curiously. ”𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋...” An error sound. ”𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.”

_Doubt it_ , Ada thought bitterly.

A question mark appeared on the screen. ”𝐒𝐨, 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐆𝐞𝐢𝐞𝐫?”

She shuddered and finally pocketed the knife. ”First of all, don't call me that. Ada is good enough.”

”𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐀𝐝𝐚, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. She did not ask any of this and having a robot butler felt ridiculous. It was like interacting with a sentient Siri, but sillier. ”I don't know.. Make me some tea. St John's Wort and oolong.”

The droid nodded and a :) appeared on its screen. ”𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡.” It scuttled happily (?) to the kitchen with surprisingly smooth bodily movement and scanned the surroundings for a short moment before starting the preparations like it had been through her cabinets a thousand times before.

Meanwhile, Ada picked up her papers, filed them away and dropped on the couch. Where on Earth was Riddler going with this? They hadn't spoken since she stumbled upon him at Black Canary. He had never responded to her payment transaction and thank you message. She decided to call him.

After a few rings, he actually answered. ”ᴡʜʏ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ, ᴍꜱ. ɢᴇɪᴇʀ!” Ada frowned at his surprisingly jovial tone. ”ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ɪ ᴏᴡᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʟʟ?”

”Cut the crap. Why did you send me a robot?”

”ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ? ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴀʀᴄʜᴀɪᴄ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪɴᴛᴀɢᴇ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ. ɪ ᴀꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ʜɪꜱ ʀᴇᴄʏᴄʟᴇᴅ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴜɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴜʀᴘᴀꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴏᴘʜɪᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ʀᴏʙᴏᴛꜱ.”

”I never asked you to build _it_. I have no need for _it_.”

Right after saying those words, the robot had returned to the lounge with a tea-tray in its hands. A frowny face was plastered on its monitor and a low, broken tune escaped from its speakers. ”ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɪɴꜱᴜʟᴛɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ.” the Riddler scolded.

Ada furrowed her brows apologetically and inclined her head to the left at the robot. The robot laid the tray on the table before her and sulkingly (?) paced to the door to wait for the next command.

”ʜᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ᴏʀɢᴀɴɪᴄ ʙᴇɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜɪꜱ ᴀɪ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀꜱɪᴄ ꜱᴇᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.”

Ada watched as the robot's monitor turned to screensaver. Colorful blocks waved in vivid hues against black background. ”Still, why have you sent it-- him, to me?” She took a sip of her tea. Whatever the robot had done, the tea was delicious. ”You're not bribing me into owing you something, are you?”

”ᴘꜰᴛ, ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ ɴᴏᴛ! ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴄʀᴏᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇꜱ, ʙᴇ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴀxᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴅʏɢᴜᴀʀᴅ.”

”I already told you: I don't need your help. That Cale-Anderson's case was one time only.”

”ᴀʜ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴅᴀ106 ɪꜱ. ɪ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ʜɪᴍ.”

Ada murmured.

”ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴀꜱ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴢɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ.. ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.”

Apology? That did not sound right at all. Yet, there was no getting rid of the bot, so she decided to humor Edward. ”Fine. Apology not entirely accepted, but I'll keep it-- him, for now.”

There was a smile in Edward's voice. ”ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴜꜱᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ.”

Ada ended the call and drank more of her tea. Absolutely tasty, even though all of this felt wrong. Yet, could this just be an act of good will? Or worst of all, was Nigma developing feelings for her? She both blushed and gagged at the thought. Surely the _mighty_ and _brilliant_ Riddler realized she had not once been leading him on!

But what if Edward had somehow gotten the idea that she was _tsundere_ , only coyly pushing him away and denying amorous feelings, secretly needing to be _loved_ (!) by him? What a harrowing and sickening notion. She feared the sentiment just might as well be true. ”DA.. I'm never going to remember your number – do you mind if I call you, let's say, David?”

The robot's monitor sprung back to life and it displayed a smiley face. ”𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥.”

”David.. does Edward.. feel for me?”

A hesitant emoticon and a short hum. ”𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥-𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.”

”Right.. So, he hasn't told you anything? About the history between me and him?”

”𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

So maybe the Riddler just wanted to be nice for change. That's new and unexpected.

”𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨?”

Ada gave David a disapproving look. ”That was very bold indeed. And his motives bother me because I cannot and do not want to associate with him any more than absolutely necessary.”

David lowered his monitor with a sad face. ”𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

That somehow tugged at Ada's heart-strings. For whatever purpose Edward had in creating this bot, David was actually quite adorable for artificially intelligent machinery. ”We'll figure that out later. For now..” She thought for a second. ”I would like you to change my bed sheets and do my laundry. The utility room is back there.”

A colon and a capital D. ”𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐀𝐝𝐚.”

While the droid scampered away, Ada sprawled on the couch, mentally exhausted by this turn of events. What ever was she supposed to do with a robot? She was used to handling things herself. Never had she been a foreman at her old job, nor had she ever been a leader in any function. The choices and opportunities were numerous – so endless in fact that she felt dizzy just thinking about them.

In the very end, David turned out to be quite the help. He proved to be quite assisting in managing the orders and packing the shipments. He kept Rose Hall tidy and aided in her daily chores. He was able to tune into her favorite music and engaged in lively conversations. The conversations ranged from philosophical questions to silly ones.

 

What does it mean to live a good life?  
At what point is a technologically enhanced human not a human anymore?  
Does life require purpose or a goal?

(To live a good life spiraled into a number of other questions and they decided to not go further. Technologically enhanced humans are not humans anymore, when AI replaces the brain fully and life requiring purpose or goal spiraled back to the question of what is to live a good life).

 

Are artificial emotions true emotions?  
What is David made of and can a robot get drunk?

(Artificial emotions are true if the AI is programmed to believe they are true. David is made of parts of several industrial and military robots, bits and pieces of an old pinball machine and a good old _iMac G3_ computer with state of the art mother board and RAM. The equivalent of a robot becoming drunk is when subjected to particularly strong magnets, relatively high voltages straight into the circuitry and when they divide by zero).

 

David was actually quite fun to have around. Ada let him do every housekeeping, except for the groceries. That was something she wanted to do for herself. And one time, while returning from her shopping, something happened:

Entering the Rose Hall, Ada burst into a series of curses, when sharp pain struck through her back.

David, who had been standing near the door in sleep mode like a patient dog, sprung to life. ”𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭, 𝐀𝐝𝐚?”

Her face twisting, biting her teeth in battle against the ache, gave out the heavy tote bags she was carrying. ”I think I strained my back.” She felt old for saying that.

The robot immediately took the bags and brought them into the kitchen. ”𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.”

She barely managed to take off her jacket, before letting herself fall on the couch with a heavy sigh. Lying down alleviated the pain just a little, but the discomfort still lingered. ”The weirdest thing, I don't know what happened.”

”𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.” David told while organizing the shoppings into their rightful places. ”𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧?”

”You mean a massage?”

”𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞.”

Ada scrambled up and headed to the bedroom like a cartoon character. ”Gladly!” She had been long due to massage, she couldn't even remember the last time she had one. ”I mean, if you don't mind.”

”𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨.”

Ada knew that, but even though David was not a human being she somehow felt obligated to make sure if he was fine with doing something for her. After all, he did respond to a variety of human emotions. He recognized that those emotions were simulations and that he was programmed to respond to them accordingly, but Ada still was not quite sure just how sentient David was.

She kicked off her boots, unbuttoned her dress down to her waist and stripped off her bra before laying face down on the bed sheets. ”There's frankincense oil on the shelf.” she told the robot.

A moment later, she heard David's clanking footsteps enter the bedroom and, oddly enough, her pulse rose the soon the humanoid machine gently set himself beside her, the bedsprings sinking by his weight. ”𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝?” he enquired.

”Lower back, mostly.” Ada winced, when David poured some massaging oil on her back and started splaying it over her skin with his cold, metallic hands. ”Your hands are cold.”

”𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐮𝐩.” As he kept spreading the oil, Ada could indeed feel his fingers slowly starting to warm up.

Upon applying pressure to his strokes, Ada exhaled at the amazing feeling of her muscles becoming disentangled. The robotic thumbs that made circular moves around the sides of her lumbar spine and sacral dimple was the most heavenly touching brought upon her since what had felt like ages ago. Ada had rarely ever indulged herself with the luxury of any massage therapy. Why had she never thought of using David as her personal massagist before? ”Feels incredible.” she couldn't help sighing.

”𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬.” David replied as he kneaded.

Ada closed her eyes, utterly relaxed. ”He sure put a lot of thought into building you.”

”𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝.”

Moments passed, while Ada enjoyed her knots becoming undone. David suddenly lowered her dress along with her underwear to reveal her rump, poured more oil upon her and brought his laboring to her hips and upper part of her buttocks. Ada held her breath in slight surprise, but let him carry on anyway. The kneading felt good, but she was all the while flustered. Although David was a robot, the state of affairs was little unnerving.

A gentle alert sound escaped from David's speakers. ”𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐈𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?” David suddenly spoke as he massaged the sides of her gluteus maximus.

”Y-yea, I'm fine..” Ada could feel her face burning as David's thumbs rubbed the cleavage below the cheeks of her bum (which, surprisingly, felt _amazing_ ).

”𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐈𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?”

That statement made Ada even more flustered. The slick, titillating rubbing was blurring the train of Ada's thought. She indeed felt herself growing warm by the treatment, yet she didn't mind the simulated sensuality of it. She licked her dry lips. ”I don't know how to respond to that.” she told truthfully.

”𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.”

Ada shivered. ”No, don't stop.” David was just a robot, and as a robot he was only an AI programmed to simulate a human being to a certain extent. He was just a robot, nothing else, and she sometimes forgot that. She sometimes forgot that he was devoted to do anything she wanted without a consequence whatsoever. Anything.

She chewed her lip and parted her legs just a little, when David moved on to massage her hamstrings. She had never had anyone massage her legs, only her back area, and she had to admit it (in her mind) that it actually felt quite.. provoking. ”𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.” David suddenly stated.

Ada frowned. ”I know and I don't need you to tell me that.” her voice was a little shaky, but firm.

A sad chime. ”𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲.”

Strangely longing for his touch to not go any lower on her legs, Ada was nervous about David's response to what she was about to ask next: ”Could you.. pull at the string? Slowly.. please?”

”𝐂𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐲.” David sounded a little happier as he slipped a finger through the hoop and gently started pulling it. Ada's breathing grew heavier at the pressure that the Ben Wa balls produced when being slowly pulled out of her obviously slippery insides. She held in a moan, when one of the balls popped out and the pellets inside the balls rotated at the sudden jerk. Fisting the satin sheets of her bed, Ada lifted her hips a little at the hot feeling as David kept pulling the string methodically in a 140-degree angle. Another one slipped out. She couldn't hold the moan any longer. ”𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭?” There was just a hint of artificial concern in David's voice.

”No, it feels wonderful.” Ada sighed. She clenched her inner muscles around the last ball, when the third one got out. She couldn't be sure, but she was almost certain that she heard a silent hum from David as he kept pulling the string.

When the final ball was out, David laid the string on her nightstand. ”𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨?”

Ada pursed her lips. ”I would like.. more massaging.. down there..” She was sure her heart would soon burst out from her chest by this excitement.

Her whole body felt tingly, when she heard the oil bottle's press top cap open once more. ”𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

Ada pouted, blushing. ”Yes.”

”𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡.” Ada flinched, when a trail of oil dripped lewdly down across the crevice of her ass cheeks all the way to her slit, tickling at her already slick opening. She gasped at feeling metallic digits trace the oil trail, gently coming to contact with her tender flesh as David pressed a hand on her lower back. "𝐈𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐋_𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄." was followed by a short twinkling tone and a jointed finger gently bore its way into her hot cavity.

Ada silently whined by the slow insertion that slightly curved downwards in a precise manner. The crooking gesture rubbed against the spongy tissue at her inner wall, mining at her G-spot while David's thumb and middle finger tickled at her yearning opening. This was really happening: she was receiving sexual services from a robot. She never had thought it would come to this, but there she was, laying half naked on her bed while an automaton hand worked for her gratification.

The robot's laboring was unerring and static in nature, as he applied only rubbing without friction. It was all the while highly pleasurable, yet too much of a tease. Another digit entered for first one's company. "𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐦 𝐈?" he asked, to which Ada simply shook her head and she found it difficult to hold her hips still. "𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧?"

"Very much!" and she sighed loudly, when David pulled out his fingers to reposition his hand, his thumb now taking place inside her and his slick, soaking forefingers sliding over Ada's labia. She wrothe in pleasure as David spread her fleshy wings for full access to her pink jewel. His thumb pressing at her inner wall, David began a slithery manipulation upon Ada's clit that threw her into a fit of fervor, her hips buckling and no longer ashamed to cry out her delight. In her elevating desire she didn't even care to find it the least a bit odd that the Riddler had programmed David to know such moves. His gestures were too human like, almost like he actually was flesh and blood, only wearing a metal and plastic morphsuit. He even lingered with his fingering, sometimes halting the circular move halfway through for a couple of seconds, before abruptly changing directions.

"𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲?" David asked, his voice sounding a little closer.

"More..!" Ada moaned impatiently, lifting her hips to meet the robots laboring, twisting her upper body and reaching his arm. "I need more."

A hesitant emoticon flashed on his 15" display. "𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐮 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞."

Ada's brow knitted. "Could you close it down and perhaps.. start up another?"

David's speakers let out a curious tune and another emoticon appeared on his screen: number eight, two equal signs and a capital D. "𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐬?" Ada pointed at her nightstand and David stood up to rummage through the top drawer. Ada kicked herself out of her dress and turned on her back as David already found what he was looking for. "𝐀𝐡, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭!"

He found a black and green, zebra patterned hard silicone dildo with a suction cup base. Besides its unusual color scheme, the toy was also curiously shaped: deep, vein-like ridges went along the length of the shaft with a narrow groove in the middle, and the tip was dissolutely bulbous. Perverse and unusual as it was, it had been an impulse purchase long ago – Ada had never used it before and now she was kind of afraid.

David smacked the toy against the metal casing at his smooth crotch. The toy obscenely bounced from side to side as it held on, like bragging about its mighty tensile strength. "𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭." He also saturated the dildo with water-based lubricant, making it glisten from tip to base. Oddly, the sight almost made Ada even hornier.

She squirmed in excitement as the robot climbed back onto bed. This was really happening: she was about to have sex with a robot. "Do robots experience sexual gratification?”

A colon and an open parenthesis as David settled himself between Ada's legs. ”𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐧𝐨.” The open parenthesis quickly turned into close parenthesis. ”𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.” He positioned Ada's legs around his thin, jointed metal spine. Her heart racing, Ada instinctively brought her hands to the hard plastic casings over his arms. ”𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲?” he asked, holding the fake penis in position. Ada swallowed hard and nodded, wondering when was the last time she had engaged in fully consenting sexual relations. ”𝐈𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘_𝐗𝐗𝐗.”

Ada gasped, when he slowly slid in, the bulb of the toy's tip stretching her and making way for the lengthy shaft. She jolted, when the narrow groove passed, the shaft expanding again as it went deeper. David's hips finally came to full contact with her own and his crotch-plate deliciously pressed against her flesh. He gently pulled out and Ada's body twitched again at the sudden, steep waist in the toy's shape. She clawed at David's arms, when he set his hips into a methodical in-and-out motion, where the toy almost exited before pushing in again all the way up to its base, the lubricant producing slimy sounds at each thrust.

Conforming this precise, mechanical pumping with her own hips, pressing her feet against the mattress for support, Ada was taken aback by how incredible the act felt like. Nothing like she had ever experienced. David's hip movement was so human-like, yet so automated and motorized, as he was a part industrial robot. It was marvelous how such a great core balance he had as he steadily penetrated her, hands firmly pressed against the mattress above her shoulders. ”𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥?”

”So very good!” she moaned, her hands roaming into the wires about David's neck.

A delighted _ping_ and a heart emoticon.

”Please.. touch me!”

David shifted a little and brought a hand to her mound, making contact to her hardened clit with his thumb. ”𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?”

She let out a strained, high-pitched whimper as David stroked her from down to up. ”Yes!”

”𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧?”

Her eyes widened. ”Can you?”

And at that very instant the thumb started a warm pulsation.

”Fuck!” she hissed, fingers intertwining with David's wires, thoroughly overcome by lust. ”Harder.. please!”

”𝐀𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎-𝟏𝟗𝐜𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝟕𝟎 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬/𝐦𝐢𝐧.” The pumping immediately grew shallower (yet keeping the movement deep) and notably faster, the slippery friction delivering heavenly blow after the other. A womanly cry escaped from Ada's lips in ardor as a thought occurred to her: what if she wasn't having sex with a robot but masturbating with an intricate sex toy? A complicated, multifunctioning sex device with completely hands-free operation? But even with these adjustments Ada remained unsated. How utterly curious. ”𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫?”

”Harder!” she wailed, nearing tears.

”𝐈𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥.” Ada yelped, when David flipped her around on all fours, spreading her legs wide open and quickly re-entering her. He grasped her hips with an almost painful force. ”𝐀𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬/𝐦𝐢𝐧.”

Ada flushed at the violent ramming of her greedy pussy and bent her back downwards closer to the mattress. She could feel the sheets against her face grow damp with drool as she was filled with the sturdy silicon phallus that ravaged her, industrious, untiring. No, David was not a mere sex toy: ”You're a fucking machine!”

A beep. ”𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥 𝐩𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐱.” The fingertip vibrations to her hot clit returned. ”𝐀𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟖𝟎 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬/𝐦𝐢𝐧.”

Ada flushed by the inhuman speed the robot unleashed and the forceful teasing that made her shake uncontrollably, her flesh jiggling against David's chassis. She was sure her insides would be bruised after this, but the ramming and the forceful vibrations felt so good. So fast, so suddenly, she was nearing completion, just in time the violent act was starting to hurt. And when she whimpered and clamped up in a cramp of orgasm that burst deep within, David pushed all the way in and remained there. Coiling like a suffering lizard, Ada cried out as he battered her vulva with hard vibrations to milk her release a little while longer, draining her in the most wonderful way. The vibrations gradually died down, when she grew too sensitive to the touch. Perfect timing. Ada sighed and shivered as she curled down against the bed, the dildo making a silent _pop_ sound as it exited.

A silent grunt reached her ears and her heart leaped. She didn't dare to move. The noise had come from David, but it had not been his voice. She sensed the robot shift behind her and sit at the edge of the bed. A hand crept across her back. ”𝐈𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐀𝐝𝐚?”

Ada swallowed and carefully turned on her back. The very second she cast her eyes upon it, she averted her gaze immediately and concentrated on David's blank screen: there was a small lens below his monitor and a tiny little green light beside it. She faked a tired smile. ”More than just alright. That was wonderful.”

”𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

”Just enough rough.”

Another heart emoticon. ”𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.”

She wiped sweat from her forehead. ”I need a cigarette.” she sighed. ”It's getting late. Would you be so kind and make me some evening snack?”

”𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞!”

When David disappeared through the doorway (the toy still attached to his crotch looked ridiculous bouncing to his steps), Ada quickly dressed herself with her thick, dark gray terrycloth bathrobe and tiptoed to the closet. As quiet as possible, she went through her wooden toolbox, not even sure what she was looking for, until she found wire cutters. Her hands were shaking as she took it.

Hiding the tool into her sleeve, she tiptoed out of the bedroom into the lounge. Each step was arduous as her legs felt like jelly and her whole loin region was sore. Peeking over the corner, she spotted David in the kitchen alcove, back turned to her and preparing, what she was guessing, sandwiches. She approached slowly. The zebra patterned dildo stood upright on the draining board, squeaky clean and proud. Ada held her breath, when she was within arm's reach to David.

She jumped, when he spoke: ”𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞?”

Something tugged in her chest and she thought she was going to cry for what she was about to do. ”Sure.” She grasped a bundle of wires in the back of David's neck and severed all of them with the cutters. A chilling, glitched scream cracked from David's speakers as his arms flung over his monitor, reaching behind. Ada barely dodged his malfunctioning, flailing hands and drove the cutters inbetween the back plates at his shoulder blades, digging out more cable harnesses. He was still screaming as his bodily functions grew jarred and twitchy, before Ada clipped the harnesses.

A loud pop with a crackle, and David stiffened. Ada evaded the metal body that fell to the floor with a heavy clank. Error messages glitched over the robot's screen for a few seconds, until they too died down. Breathing heavily, Ada stared down at the lifeless metal husk in a mixture of sadness and rage. Even if the Riddler had meant well by building David, he was still the same slimy pervert. She was angrier with herself than him for not suspecting him a voyeur before. Still, it was a pity: she had actually kind of liked David.

Ada was awakened by the sound of her ringtone. Still shaking, she rushed to retrieve her phone from the lounge table without bothering to see, who was calling. ”Hello?”

A familiar croon. ”ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ, ᴍꜱ. ɢᴇɪᴇʀ. ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ?” Fear seeped into Ada's heart.

She groaned internally. ”Evening, Doctor. Just.. taking out the trash.”

”ʜᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ʙᴜꜱɪɴᴇꜱꜱ?”

”Super.” She walked back to the robot, keeping her eyes on it in case it was still somehow functioning. ”Just shipped out a big order to Metropolis.” She poked the robot's arm with a toe. It did not move. How ever was she going to get rid of it?

”ɪꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ? ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ꜱʜᴀᴋᴇɴ.” There was no concern in Scarecrow’s tone. Only mild curiosity, if that.

Ada cleared her throat. ”Yea, I'm fine.. just a little tired. Hopefully I'm not coming down with something.”

”ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ꜱᴏ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ.” Ada held in another groan. ”ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ.” Apparently she didn't hold in well enough.

”It's only been a week. I had just gotten used to my _normal_ life.”

”ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ʟɪꜰᴇ?” Scarecrow let out a gentle laugh. ”ᴛʜɪꜱ _ɪꜱ_ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ʟɪꜰᴇ, ᴘᴜᴍᴘᴋɪɴ.” Ada could imagine his hideous smile. ”ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʟʟꜱ?”

”I have.” Her gaze drifted to David's blackened monitor. The tiny green light still flickered and she glowered. ”Today was the third day.”

”ᴠᴇʀʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ. ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ᴀᴛ 4:00 ᴘᴍ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.”

Ada murmured, her eyes fixed on the barely alive green light.

”ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ɪꜱ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ?” Now there was slight skepticism in his voice.

She frowned, trying to keep her hands from trembling. ”I'm sure. I just need some sleep.”

”ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ. ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴍꜱ. ɢᴇɪᴇʀ.”

”Good night, Doctor.” The very moment she ended the call, she glared at the robot that lay on the floor. ”Fucking scum.” she growled under her breath and grasped the sex toy from the draining board. Crouching down beside the robot, she held up the dildo with an ugly expression on her face. ”If you can still see this: next time _this_ will be so high up in your ass that you will need the best surgeon to remove it!” she hissed, took out the cutters from her pocket and stabbed the camera lens with them.

And that was the end of Riddlerbot DA106's story.

 


End file.
